


Some Soul of Goodness

by TwylaMercedes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Magic, Mostly Fluffy and Sweet (with some Smut), Some references to non-consensual sexual activity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 94,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwylaMercedes/pseuds/TwylaMercedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A role reversal story with Belle as the Dark One and Rumple as the humble spinner who stumbles into her power.  A sweeter story of their emerging love against a backdrop of familiar threats and crises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Dangerous Ends**

His ankle hurt.

Of course it hurt. It always hurt, but at the moment it was screaming for attention, grabbing him at one moment with a sharp cutting pain and another moment with a deep dull bone ache.

The weather had turned.

A week ago, the weather had proclaimed it was early spring. Daring the elements to rescind their heralding of warm weather, he had set off to walk the far distance to Milledgeville Fair to sell his yarns. He'd packed them all securely in a sturdy bag that he could carry on his back. Along the way, he'd slept in the shelter that ditches might provide or under brush piles. Once in the town, he'd found an alley inside the church grounds that provided some smattering of security from pickpockets and robbers (who would commit robbery in the shadow of Mother Church?). He hadn't wanted to waste money on creature comforts and a room at the inn would have taken some of his limited finances.

In the morning at that same church, he'd stood in line for tough bread with rancid butter and hot weak tea for his breakfast and then again for a slab of stringy meat, mushy beans and undercooked potatoes for his supper. The clerics served the poor and long ago, having dispensed with his pride, he had learned to take their handouts without shame. He washed himself as he could in one of the cisterns that were placed in the town's center square and smoothed out his garments, blotting off the mud and brushing off the dust. He ran his fingers through his hair.

On the first day of the festival, he'd set up in one of the free scant spaces in the hot sun to display his yarns, all spun over the course of the long winter. He'd stood back fearful that his position, his person, would not attract attention. His yarn was excellent. He knew that. But he didn't have one of the bright tents to stand under nor was he dressed to appear to be any more than what he was – an unfranchised peasant. He watched the other vendors. Most were like himself, hanging back, but there were a few that loudly announced their wares. They seemed to attract the most attention.

He sighed.  Shouting out to strangers regarding the fine quality of his work was contrary to his basic nature, to the harsh lessons life had taught him. One was more likely to survive if they didn't attract attention to themselves.

And so, he'd sold nothing the first day and was in despair that the entire trip would be for naught. However, on the second day of the festival, he stood by his yarn and announced them quietly to passersby.

"Quality Fenshimer sheep wool here with the fastest dyes." He didn't get more involved that this nor could he bring himself to be loud - or look people in the eye. Several fair goers stopped and looked at his wool.

"Fenshimer sheep? Aren't those only found on the slopes where the uncouth hill people live," one young man said causing the cluster of young people he was traveling with to laugh.

"No, they're found in the ice mountains and grow uncanny warm fleece – fleece that will keep you warm in the coldest weather," he clarified, surprised at himself for speaking up.

Apparently the young man was equally surprised that the peasant had spoken. He was about to retort when a very pretty older woman spoke up. "Jeavon, you've appreciated the Fenshimer scarf I made for you two years ago. I recall you saying how well it protected you from the coldest bursts of wind."

She picked up some of the wool and addressed the man directly. "These have excellent colors. Dye them yourself?" she asked.

He nodded, tongue-tied in the presence of this handsome woman. She was dressed simply and beautifully and he guessed she was the wife of some up and coming nobleman . . . or more likely, the latest wife of some older, wealthy nobleman.

"Oh come on, Sophia. He's just a peasant," one of her women declared.

"No one else is selling this kind of quality," she told her women. "Look," and she unwound one of his skeins to hold the yarn up to the light. "See how long the fibers are and how evenly they are spun. The colors are pure and sharp. This is quality work, much better that we can get at Master Sourworth's, for all that he gives you a candy treat for coming to his tent."

She chatted with the spinner, surprisingly knowledgeable about spinning and dying.

He complimented her understanding and she confided in him that she had been a sheepherder's daughter before she'd married a nobleman, so, yes, she did know about this type of thing. She let him know she was impressed with his merchandise and she made a sizeable purchase. Several of the women in her group followed suit and in a short time his inventory was happily depleted.

"I'm sure I shall find a use for these," she assured him, paying him a pretty price. "I shall make my husband a Fairy Isle sweater with this yarn and he shall be the envy of all his friends."

The spinner bowed and thanked the young woman. He had done as well as he had wanted to, perhaps a bit more than he had expected to and had managed to sell all of his inventory. He would be able to limp home with a much larger purse than he had come in with and perhaps invest in a younger, spryer ram for his own little herd.

Now done with his own business at the fair, it was time to head back home. But he was ever leery of thieves and bandits, so he distributed his earnings, putting some small part of the money into his change purse and some into his socks. Most of it he had inserted up his bum.

Recognizing the dangers of travel, recognizing how vulnerable a target a cripple was, he gave much consideration to the best route home. Rather than the Queen's Highway, he had taken the shorter road that would take him near The Dark Castle knowing this area's reputation kept most people, including thieves and bandits, away. He knew well that most people would go out of their way to avoid the area, although there were persistent rumors of a village that existed somewhere under the shadow of the Darkness. There were many more shocking tales of folks going in but never coming out of the Dark Forest. The Castle itself was rumored to be haunted, to be the abode of a great evil, merciless power. The grounds around the Castle were home to ravening beasts and freaks of nature. He was desperate enough to risk that the stories told were merely cautionary tales used to frighten children into staying close by to their parents when traveling.

Even on this much less traveled route, he remained cautious and often paralleled the road rather than walking on it, stumbling on the uneven ground, hoping he wouldn't twist the ankle on his good leg and hoping his bad ankle would hold out. He would stop frequently to listen for anyone else moving on the road but there had been no sound, no indications of other travelers, no indications even of animals in the area.

But as he had slogged on, the weather betrayed him. It began to turn colder and wetter. It wasn't exactly raining, but there seemed to be a cold mist gathering, some of the air turning to fog, some to drizzle. His progress was painfully slow and he realized it was getting dark even while he was still in the purview of the Dark Castle.

Without other options, he trudged on, stepping around tree roots, struggling with his cane and his weakened ankle. He would sometimes step into holes, mud and wet seeping into his shoes. His ankle began to ache with every step, the increasing cold and dampness aggravating the old injury. He began to look around for any semblance of shelter recognizing that if the temperature continued to drop then he would not survive the night in the open. Three hours without shelter, three days without water and three weeks without food – he knew the delineators of survival under harsh conditions.

He realized that his nose was running from the cold and his breath had begun to fog the air around him. In the rapidly increasing darkness he was having trouble seeing where to step.

Then he heard them.

A single howl in the distance, followed by an answering howl a little further away.

_Wolves!_

The drive to find shelter now became more urgent. He knew he had no hope, even if he went to the road, of outrunning wolves. Perhaps he could climb a tree, but that did not improve his chances of survival in the increasing brutal weather.  His progress became increasingly frantic and with each step it was more painful.

 _He had to find real shelter – something to protect him from the wolves and the elements_.

To have had a successful vending trip but then to have everything taken away by bad luck. He closed his eyes, tears coming despite his determination to be strong. He had risked much for this trip and for it to end for him this way, either as a meal for the wolves or to die from the cold in the raw elements was heart wrenching.

He struggled on. He had no other choice.

He could hear the howls of the wolves. They seemed to be getting closer. As he looked around himself, he realized that he had lost sight of the road.

He was now lost in the woods, lost in the enchanted woods around the Dark Castle.

He sighed. What other evil could befall him? What god had he offended that this should happen to him? He had tried all his life to be a good person, to do the right thing but always things seemed to push against him. He sighed again.

He had no choice but to keep on.

Then he noticed the soft white flakes. At first he thought it might be ash from a fire, but soon enough realized it was snow.

It was now snowing. An early spring snow.

He was shivering, cold and wet to the bone. Tired, cold, hungry, desperate.

He looked up. There was a half moon and he could see dark clouds racing across the sky and as he looked out, in front, he saw it.

It loomed.

There was no mistaking it. He had never heard a description or seen a picture, but he recognized the large, hulking structure in front of him.

It was The Dark Castle. Somehow he had made his way right to the cursed citadel.

It was very tall, taller than any building he'd ever seen. There were multiple towers, toothed crenelations across the curtain walls and smooth blackened walls that seemed to shine in the moonlight.

He stopped a moment. _What were his choices? He could try to outrun the wolves, keep going in the hope of finding shelter or he could chance the Dark Castle._

Yes, he had heard all the rumors, but he wasn't as much a superstitious man as he was a desperate man. He made a decision and made his way toward the castle.

The ground became increasingly level and there were fewer trees as he neared the castle. He was moving as fast as he could, hearing the wolves closing in. He burst from the forest and found himself in an open area with the front of the castle now perhaps a hundred yards in front of him, a postern gate visible to him in the moonlight. He gathered his last shreds of energy and sprinted as he could with his weakened limbs across the open area to the gate. As he neared the gate he heard the howling closer behind him and he knew if he turned that he would be able to see the wolves.

Now he was praying to deities he didn't believe in that the gate would be open, unlocked. Out of breath, he marshaled every last bit of energy and dashed to the gate.

Oh, but it was shut . . . locked.

He pounded on the gate.

"Open! Open!" he shouted. "Please, please let me in! I will give you half of all I have! Let me in!"

As if in answer to his plea, the gate abruptly unlatched and swung open. He didn't think twice. He vaulted in and slammed the gate behind himself, latching it shut.

Then, and only then did he risk looking back. The wolves were near enough to the gate that he could see their red eyes glowing. He could feel the heat from their breath.

 _:Stupid man. His fate is decided. He would have been better off with us.:_ He _heard_ one of the wolves in his mind.

The wolves milled about, gathering more of their number, howling and barking at each other. They would not approach the gate and, for the moment, he knew he was safe _although unnerved at having heard the wolf's voice_.

He turned around. He was still breathing heavily. He was inside the grounds of the Dark Castle.

And now, out of immediate danger he felt the cold tendrils of fear rise up to wrap themselves around his heart. Although he was not one to believe in haunts and spirits, this place was eerie, cold, quiet, still, as if there was some Waiting Presence. He felt like an unwelcome intruder, coming unbidden into the home of another. Would someone come to order him out or, presumptively, just try to kill him?

This place was supposed to be inhabited by the Dark One, a long-lived, very evil entity that would grant any wish but at the cost of your soul.

"Hello," he called out, his voice weak and shaky.

Better to announce himself than to sneak in like a thief, he thought. There was no answer, which was a relief. He calmed himself, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

He began to explore. A half-moon splintered through the clouds and he could just make out that he was in the bailey of the structure. There was a great keep in front of him and he made his way to it. There were overly-large ornate double doors. He knocked on them and again called out. "Hello, anyone here?" His voice sounded thin against the silent backdrop of the empty bailey.

Again there was no answer. He pushed on one of the doors and it opened.

He peeked inside. This was the entrance to a great hall. In the center of the room was a large table. The room was comfortably warm although there was no fireplace. There were lighted sconces all around the hall. He entered the room, the door shutting behind him, slamming, causing him to jump. Trembling with residual cold and fear, he slowly, carefully, made his way into the great hall, approaching the table.

And there he found a fine meal set for one person. He could smell the food. It had been more than a day since he had eaten or drunk anything and prior to that there had only been meager unappetizing portions. He agonized for a moment. This food was fresh and smelled beyond deliciousness. He didn't want to offend whatever entity had provided it but he couldn't be sure if it was meant for him.

"Please, is this for me?" he asked aloud and waited nervously. "I don't wish to offend you or take that which is not meant for me, but I am grievously hungry."

There was no answer.

His hunger made the decision for him and he sat down and began to nibble at the food. Soon he was shoveling the well-cooked, well-seasoned meal into himself, using his hands to stuff himself. Well done potatoes mashed with milk, a tender cut of some unknown meat and a variety of vegetables, salted and seasoned. And bread, soft, crusty bread, not burnt nor stale, but fresh and light with sweet butter melting into the soft crevices. There was hot tea on the table and he poured himself one cup after another, drinking it straight down.

And then, his stomach, unused to so much food, rejected it and he bent over, emptying himself suddenly and violently onto the floor of the elegant dining room. He nearly panicked. Not only had he eaten the superb meal that may not have meant for him, but he had soiled the room with his puke. He looked around, frightened. Surely now the invisible inhabitants would come and usher his wretched person out, out into the cold, out into the enclave of the wolves. Trembling, he struggled back into the cushioned chair and slowly sipped some more of the tea and sucked on some of the crust from the bread.

He waited until he was sure he would keep down the food. He took a napkin and wiped up his vomit as well as he could.

He looked around himself and saw a door going off to the back of the great hall that was now opened. _He hadn't noticed it before._ He limped towards it, his ankle screaming each time he put weight upon it.

He entered the other room to find a large sunken pool of water. He gingerly approached the water and found that it was quite warm. A hot bath awaited him. He again hesitated but decided that whatever entity dwelt in this place was determined to see to his needs.

He stripped off and slowly slipped into the water. There were bottles alongside the sunken pool and wash cloths. He smelt the bottles and found one with a clean, refreshing sent and used it to soap himself up. He washed his hair and ducked under the water several times to rinse it out.

He'd never had a bath so pleasant, usually having to forego washing himself in general. There had been a few times when he would rinse himself in cold river water or would use a splash of warm water from a bowl to wash himself, but the only soap he'd ever used had been coarse lye, harsh to the skin, not this soft, sweet-smelling foaming, frothing concoction. He reluctantly eased himself out of the warm pool and dried off with a plush white towel.

He found that his clothes had been replaced with a pair of soft brown woven pants and an off-white linen pullover shirt. There were also fine lawn cotton underthings that he pulled on, appreciating the excellent workmanship in the delicate clothing. There were slippers for his feet. He dressed and then saw another door partly opened revealing a narrow staircase. He went inside and slowly climbed up the stairs, by now believing that whatever entity or entities that abode in the castle were not out to harm him.

The stairs went up and up and he climbed, feeling that he was going around the outside of the keep. He went by one door and kept climbing. Finally he came up to a door that opened onto a hall. He went down the hall and found another door open. Inside he found a large room, the central feature being a soft bed complete with pristine white linen sheets and a down stuffed comforter. The sheets had been turned down, inviting him to rest. The room was heated by a fireplace that burned but did not seem to be consuming the wood. He realized he was bone-tired and crept into the bed. Before he closed his eyes, he said quietly, "Thank you. Thank you for saving my life, for the food, the bath and this bed."

He then closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

When he woke the next morning, he first stared at the plastered roof above his head, not recognizing it. It took him a moment to orient himself. Ah yes, he was in the Dark Castle. The fire was still going and the room was still comfortably warm. He slipped out of the bed and found his own traveling clothes, now cleaned and ready for him. His worn boots had been replaced with fine new ones. He changed back into these clothes and went back down the stairs and out through the bathing room and into the great hall.

Now he found a place for breakfast had been set for him; all vestiges from the evening meal and his digestive indiscretion had been cleaned away. He sat down and, more slowly than he'd consumed his meal the night before, he ate eggs softly scrambled, buttered bread and well-cooked bacon. He drank warmed milk spiked with vanilla and honey. It was another wonderful meal. As he finished this meal, he used the napkin to wipe his face.

It was early morning and he thought it was as good a time as any to take his leave. He pushed back from the table and couldn't help but notice that hanging on a rack near the double doors was a fine coat, plain black on the outside but inside, fur-lined. He put it on somehow not surprised that it was a perfect fit for his thin frame. Before going through the double doors, he again humbly thanked his unseen benefactor.

In the early morning light he could see around the bailey. Over to one side was a beautiful rose garden, with deep red roses blooming despite the time of year. He thought how his sweet Aunt Marjorie would love one of the flowers. He considered picking one, but did not feel comfortable taking even one, not wanting to take further advantage of his host than he already had.

He stumbled on to the side gate he had come in through. He unlatched it and looking back once more, he stepped through the gate.

"You promised me half of all you have."

He whirled around and behind him, standing still, was a slight cloaked figure, hooded so that there was no face that he could see. Dark material wrapped around the small figure and shimmered in the morning sun. Power emanated in waves from the figure.

He dropped to his knees.


	2. This Be Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After selling his wares in a faraway town, a desperate, impoverished spinner makes the fateful decision to take a perilous route home, a route that will take him near The Dark Castle, a region rumored to be haunted by an evil being. Trounced by a late spring snow storm and pursued by wolves he pounds on the gates of the Dark Castle, offering half of all he has. The gate opens and he is fed, bathed and sleeps soundly in a warm comfortable bed. As he is about to leave, he is stopped by an entity who demands payment.

The slight figure stood before him. He had dropped to his knees, groveling in front of the entity.

“I did,” he agreed trembling. _He had promised her half of all he had._ And he began to empty his purse and reach into his sock.

“It is not your money that I desire.”

The figure whispered but he could clearly hear every word.

“What? I do not understand,” he said not having the courage to look up at the figure.

“I _have_ money.” The entity told him and paused, “You have a son?”

His blood went cold. Somehow he didn’t think lying would extricate himself from this dilemma.

_What had he done?_

_What had he done?_

“I do,” he admitted, afraid of what was coming next.

“I would have him.”

He looked down at the ground. Only the love he had for his child gave him courage to speak, “My son is too precious to me. He is more than half of me.”

“Perhaps your aunt then.”

_How did this figure know?_

“I think she would be too old to be useful to you.” He had to try to save his family from his poor decisions. _Why hadn’t he listened to the old stories? Why had he chosen to come this way? He would have been better off chancing thieves on the Queen’s Highway – or letting the wolves have him._

“How would you know what is useful to me?”

“I don’t,” he admitted, not sure if the entity was amused or irritated. “Is there anything else I can offer you?” He dreaded to hear the answer.

“Perhaps we can come to a new bargain, a different agreement,” came the soft answer. “I need someone to help me care for my estate.”

“I could do that, but . . .” _What would happen to his little family? He wasn’t much, but he was all they had to depend on to put food on the table, to keep a roof over their heads._

The figure waited.

“My son and my aunt depend upon me to take care of them,” he confessed in agony. “If I were to stay here, they would starve. They would lose their home. They would die.”

The figure stood quietly. “You come from a small village.”

“I do,” he was miserable, kneeling in the dirt, not daring to raise his eyes beyond the hem of the creature’s robes. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It is a poor place and all who live there struggle.” He could have gone on, but somehow he sensed the figure already was well aware of the grinding poverty that defined his home village.

“It will prosper now. Your aunt and your son will be cared for and will have no harm come to them.”

“Is that a promise?” he managed to ask _boldly._ “If so, I will stay. I will serve you in anyway, in every way I can,” he dropped his head.

“Forever?” the figure asked him.

“As you wish,” he agreed wretchedly. _What other choice did he have?_

He sensed the figure had approached him and he slowly raised his eyes to see that the hood had been drawn back. The creature, for it was not human, that stood before him had an unearthly beauty: ebony black hair, scales that were silver to blue in color, bright blue eyes with the slit pupils of a reptile. And yet . . . there was an evenness, a sweetness of features.

He bowed his head again. “Milady,” he said, for there was no question in his mind that the entity was definitely female.

“Forever then. I never break a deal,” the creature told him. “Come with me. I shall show you what needs to be done.” And she turned to walk away. He struggled to his feet and followed her as best he could leaning on his cane. She led him to the garden first.

“I would have you help weed and water my roses.”

“Yes ma’am. They are very beautiful,” he told her. _This he wasn’t sure he could do. The flowers seemed more delicate, more demanding than the patch of root vegetables, cabbages, and overcrops of beans that he grew for his family._

The figure then led him to some stables set off from the great keep. “I keep several horses here. They need daily care, feeding and, of course, the stables need to be cleaned out.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded. _Now this he could do. Simple physical labor around animals. His ankle would hamper him but he could do this job._

They next went into the keep and she sat at the table which was still set with his breakfast dishes. “Pour me some tea, please,” she directed him. She watched him as he maneuvered, limping, holding onto furniture as he reached to get a cup from one end of the table and bringing it closer to the pot to pour her tea.

She frowned as he struggled to walk with his cane and balance the pot of tea and a cup.

“What is wrong with your leg?” she asked him.

He hung his head. “It was injured,” he wasn’t about to share any more details than he had to.

“Does it hurt?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, Milady. It hurts all the time. It hurts very much,” he told her truthfully.

“Come here.”

He put down the pot and the teacup and cautiously limped over to where she was sitting. She leaned forward and her hand glowed with a purple light. A warmth and soothing energy flowed into his ankle and, for the first time in years, he felt whole and healed.

_Magic._

_She was a magic-user._

_He had suspected as much. How could he not? But now the evidence was unequivocal._

“Milady,” he was near tears. “Thank you.”

“You will do me little good if you remain a cripple. This will help you with the chores I have set for you.”

Gingerly, on the newly healed ankle, he walked back to get her tea. It felt strange to be able to put his full weight on the leg without having it buckle or send a searing pain up his spine. He finished preparing her cup of tea and brought it to her.

“I would have you keep this place free of dirt and dust. I would have you do my laundry and prepare my meals,” she told him.

“Yes ma’am. I’ve done laundry and I can do plain cooking. I shall do my best,” he answered reaching to place the tea in front of her.

“I will, of course, want you to skin any children I may catch for their pelts.”

He froze in horror and, as she was reaching for her tea, the cup fell out of his hand, the fine porcelain crashing, echoing on the floor. He immediately knelt to pick it up.

“That was a quip,” she told him.

He was examining the cup. “I’ve chipped your cup. It’s just a little chip,” he told her _although in truth the chip was the size of man’s thumbnail._

_What would she do to him? He was trying not to cringe._

“It’s just a cup,” she told him, taking it gently from his hand and waving her hand, refilling it with tea.

She did not seem to notice that he was visibly trembling.

“What do I call you?” she asked taking a sip from the chipped cup.

“Rumplestiltskin is my name, ma’am. But most call me Rumple,” he answered her before remembering all that he had been taught about not giving your true name to magical creatures.

Names had power.

“Rumple,” the lady repeated. “Rumple, you may continue to call me ‘Milady.’ I like that.” She stood. “You have the run of the castle except for the North Tower. That is where I work. You should not go in there. It would be . . . dangerous.” She stood and then drifted out leaving him to clean up the great room.

Rumplestiltskin gathered up the breakfast dishes. He realized he had no idea where the kitchen was but saw a door open in the side wall of the keep.

He went down a half-flight of stairs and found himself in a dark kitchen. Here was an uneven flagstone floor and grey stone walls. There was another door which he assumed led outside. There were windows high in one of the walls, windows that had thick curtains placed over them. He dragged a chair over to the windows and pulled down the curtains so that he could see around the room better. There were wooden tables and a deep sink. Above the deep sink there was something he recognized as a faucet. He’d never lived in a place with such a device placed inside and he took a moment to explore how it worked. He thought it was a delightful invention. He put the dishes into the sink and used a knife to shave off a sliver of some of the soap he found. In one corner he noticed the cast iron black oven and saw that, like the fireplace in the room where he’d spent the night, there was a fire than did not diminish in the firebox. _So he wouldn’t have to be chopping wood._ He was able to heat water to clean the dishes. He searched around and found a broom, a mop, a bucket, and cleaning rags. He set about cleaning up from breakfast.

The first day was not too difficult. He found that as he wanted to find something, the castle would help him locate it . . . a cabinet door would open, a drawer would pull open, or something would move and catch his eye.

He began to explore the place. In the basement where he was, along with kitchen, there seemed to be additional rooms that appeared to be used for storage. He also found a door that opened to a staircase that went down to a sub-basement. He decided not to explore this place at the moment. _The air coming up from the sub-basement was foul and made him decidedly uncomfortable._

He continued looking around and turned his attention to the tower where he had spent the night. He quickly saw that most rooms in the tower had a fireplace and windows. There were three rooms on the bottom floor, including the great dining hall, the bathing room and he saw another room off the dining hall that seemed to be a sitting area complete with a fireplace and several comfortable chairs and a large sofa.

On the second floor was a great library, filled with books from floor to ceiling and comfortable places to sit. He stood a moment, gaping. He had rarely seen a single book and to be confronted with several hundred was an awe inspiring moment. This room was well lit by both windows and lamps.

On the third floor were four large rooms, one of which had been his bedroom the previous night. The others also contained beds, as if waiting for uninvited (or invited) guests.

On the top floor, with curtained windows all around was a single large bedroom. He hesitated, gawking a moment after entering the room, faced with so much finery. There were dresses and feminine undergarments all around along with a delightful floral smell, like the roses that she grew in her garden. He assumed this was the Lady’s bedroom. He gathered up her clothing that he could find and returned to the kitchen. He set the clothes on the counter next to the sink while he added hot water and soap.

His intention was to let the dainties and flimsies soak in the near scalding water. However, when he went to drop one of the delicate silky slips into the hot soapy water the thing came alive and resisted his attempts to put it into the hot water -- the little slip actually extending itself over the edges of the sink and pushing back as he tried to push down. He tried several times to put the slip into the water, but the little slip fought back each time. He tried a few other garments and was met with similar resistance. The effort culminated when several of the slips pummeled him and dunked his head into the hot soapy water.

Stumped, shaking out his hair and drenched in water, he stood a moment. The delicate little slips now lay in a quiescent innocent pile next to the sink. He looked at them.

His knowledge of fibers extended to wool and flax. He was aware of cotton although he had never personally worked with this plant fiber. He thought about it and rejected the thought that these were cotton. Cotton was a sturdy fabric able to withstand heat with no problems. He suspected the fabrics that made up Milady’s clothing were something he had never encountered before -- silk. He examined one of the slips. It was smooth and slick and thin. Perhaps, perhaps it was silk. He addressed the pile of clothing, asking them to wait a moment. He went to the bathing chamber and borrowed some of the fine liquid soap that was there. He returned and then emptied out the hot water in the sink. He ran some cold water and added a little of the lighter soap. To his delight and amazement the slips and the other dainty garments leaped on their own accord into the water.

“I’ll be back after you’ve soaked a while,” he told them, shaking his head at his situation.

_It hasn’t taken much time for me to go completely barking mad, he thought. I’m talking with laundry that’s just assaulted me._

He realized it was mid-morning and he needed to be fixing a midday meal. He had no idea what someone like the Lady would want to eat. He had no idea of where he would find food to prepare.  

He was standing in the kitchen and the door of a very large wooden cabinet swung open. He approached the cabinet cautiously. He peeked inside and found shelves. There was a cabbage, some potatoes and an onion which he took out and began cutting. He placed a large pot with water on the stove and dropped in the vegetables. A drawer opened and in it he found a wooden stirring spoon and a small jar containing a grainy white substance which he quickly recognized as salt, something that he had only had very limited access to before. He added a little of this to the food on the stove with the idea of making soup. He left it simmering.

He went back and rinsed out the Lady’s garments – using cold water. By now he recognized that the Castle was helping him.

_In for a penny._

“Where can I hang these out to dry?” he addressed the kitchen aloud and several things happened. A bucket of clothespins were shoved out unceremoniously into the middle of the floor. And the door to the outside opened. He picked up the wet clothes and the clothespins and went outside.

He stepped first onto an overgrown brick path and was immediately in a small demoralized kitchen garden. Still standing on the poorly maintained path, he glanced around himself and found a clothesline strung from a hook in the castle wall that went out to a sturdy post. He hung the clothes up.

He briefly picked through the little kitchen garden, shaking his head at the paucity of plants and the poor condition of the few survivors that were still struggling to grow. He ducked inside to make one last check on the soup and then went out to look at the horses. He didn’t have much time to spare for them at the moment and was relieved to find out that they had already been fed and allowed out to the small pasture.

It was by now the middle of the day and he decided that Milady might be ready for a light repast. He tasted the soup and was more than satisfied that he’d made something that was decent tasting. He also made tea and set it aside. He found a tray, poured a bowl of the soup, added some bread from breakfast and a spoon. Finally he placed the tea pot and a cup on the tray and took all these out to the grand table. Milady was not to be seen, so he set the items at one end and returned to feed himself some of the same lunch.    

Then he went back outside and explored the stables with places for three horses, ready to spend more time with the animals. The horses were already out in the bailey, grazing and nibbling on the grass. He had seen there was sweet hay and a mix of grains, mostly oats, that were also available for the horses to eat. They were calm, curious animals and came over to inspect him.

He was half-expecting them to talk to him but they seemed to be nothing more than ordinary beasts. He petted each one and was happy they seemed to accept him. He went back into the barn, shoveled and swept out the stable and put down fresh straw. He then went in and checked out the gardening shed. He knew nothing about the care and maintenance of roses and realized he’d need some help here.  

Satisfied he would be able to handle most of the chores, except the roses, he returned to the grand room and saw that someone had eaten the food. He cleaned up from lunch and took care of the spot of laundry he had done, taking her ladyship's clothing down and carrying it back into the kitchen. He examined it. It was all wrinkly, not smooth and shining.

_In for a pound._

“All right, Castle. What do I do?” he asked aloud.

And sure enough, a padded board dropped down from the wall and two irons jumped up and down on the back of the oven. He had never ironed before so he talked to the equipment and to the garments _thinking all the while that he had definitely truly gone mad._ “This is new for me. Help me. Show me what to do.” He was gratified when one of the garments lay on the board and one of the irons began to run over the fabric. He was fascinated that where the heat and weight hit the fabric, it left the fabric smooth. He nodded and picked up the iron to continue the action, rotating the irons from garment to garment. Happy with the state of the laundry he carried it up to her bedroom.

He found a wardrobe and was able to hang up the dresses and he placed the other things into a dresser drawer. Finally, he walked around the house and everything looked acceptable.

It was late afternoon.

He missed his spinning wheel for now would be the perfect time to spin. He wondered if he would ever practice his craft again.   He sighed and wandered back into the kitchen. The room was dark in the late afternoon, the sun now being on the other side of the castle.

He might have missed it except for a bit of movement that caught his eye.

There in a corner was a spinning wheel, the wheel slowly turning on its own. Set next to it was a basket of roving. He felt almost happy as he sat down in front of the wheel getting to know the specific mechanics of this wheel.  

"Light?" he asked and a mysterious wisp of light appeared over his shoulder.  He then began to focus on the task at hand.

“I thought you might feel more comfortable with the spinning wheel.”

He had just grasped the leader thread and was beginning to draft fibers from the roving when he heard her voice. As soon as he heard her, he stopped and stood. He had not heard her come in. “Milady,” he bowed his head as the mysterious dark Lady of Castle stood just inside the door.

She looked out of place in the rough, mundane kitchen, her delicate body covered with silks and fringe and lace and her odd skin tone sparkling in the warm light of the room.

“I see you have attended well to the chores I set for you.”

“Except the rose garden,” he confessed. “Milady, I can grow root crops and beans and such, but I’ve never grown flowers, certainly not such beautiful ones, and am not sure what I need to do. If you tell me, I will comply but I can’t be trusted if I’m left to my own devices.”

The lady looked at him for a long moment and he thought that he might have angered her. He expected to be incinerated any moment and he was surprised to see her smile. “I suppose it is to be expected. Have you discovered how things work?” she asked him and gave a vague gesture around the room.

He nodded his head. “The castle has stopped me from making any serious mistakes. I know sometimes I have a need of something and it appears and I can even ask for things and they will appear.”

She nodded. “Within reason, if you think of something, the castle will provide it. Things for cooking, like flour and eggs, those are easy for the house. Those things will appear in the larder,” she pointed to the large wooden cabinet where, earlier, he had found the cabbage, potatoes and onion, “which is especially enchanted to bring in food. Other things may appear in other places, such as . . . well, if you want hot water, you can _think_ it. You don’t have to actually heat the water.” She turned and pointed out the one drawer that had given him a spoon and salt, “There is also the Ever-Providing Drawer, which will produce utensils and spices and most whatever else you can think of.”

“That’s remarkable,” Rumple told her, amazed at the capabilities of magic.

“Did you not realize that it was your own thoughts that provided for your needs last night?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I thought someone was being very nice to me,” he told her honestly and was surprised when she laughed softly as if she were genuinely amused at his naiveté.

“I guess I was. It was my magic you were drawing on and if I had not allowed it to work then it would not have,” she told him. “Is there anything else you wish for?” she asked him.

“Do you have any requests for dinner? I am just a very plain cook and you will get a lot of soup and stew if you depend on my limited skills.”

“Here,” she directed him to one of the closed upper cabinets, opening the doors and finding several books. She selected one. “This is a simple cookbook. I thought it was a potions book when I first found it. Of course,” she said wistfully, “making a pie with meringue is a type of magic.”

He took the book, his fingertips brushing hers. He drew back. He had expected her touch would be cold like a reptile’s, but it was warm, like a human woman’s touch.

His voice caught in his throat. He thought her very beautiful and he had never been this close to someone this beautiful. “Is . . . is . . . there. . . “ he started but could not finish.

“What?” she put her hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her hand. The fingers were small and tipped with long, dark blue, almost black nails, almost claws.

“I . . . I would have trouble using this book,” he finally managed to tell her, concentrating on the corner of the kitchen he could see over her shoulder.

She looked at him closely.

“I . . . I cannot read, Milady,” he confessed dropping his eyes, ashamed, _but then, what peasant could read?_

She stood a moment but finally told him, “I have simple tastes. With the chill in the air, a hot soup would just perfect.” And she smiled and left.

He realized he was trembling. Not just from fear although he had begun to suspect that this small slip of a creature was capable of killing him as casually as if she stepped on a snail.   He was tongue-tied in her presence because he thought her so beautiful. _He had wanted to ask what his family would think of his absence. Would they think him dead? Run off to seek his own fortune? But he could not bring himself to speak up. He dare not ask the question._

He put the cookbook aside. The first day was going . . . all right.

 


	3. More than Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a busy and enlightening first day, Rumple settles into his duties at the Dark Castle. The Lady seems kindly disposed towards all but how can a simple spinner know for sure?

They had settled into a routine. He would go for days without seeing the Lady and he knew she often was gone from the castle on errands too unpleasant to imagine. Other times he knew she was working in the North Tower for he could see lights waxing and waning in the windows on the top floor. No doubt she was working on tasks too horrific to contemplate.

At night, he kept to his bedroom on the third floor. He would rise early to begin the process of making bread, plain brown, rough peasant bread. He had taken to leaving a pot of soup on the stove and each morning he might add another vegetable to it. He would then prepare a simple breakfast and place it on the grand table for her. Sometimes he knew the Lady ate in the dining hall but other times the food just disappeared. And at other times the food went untouched. He would eat his own breakfast in the kitchen and then go out to care for the horses. After feeding the horses and cleaning out their stalls, he would go up to the Lady’s bedroom and, if he found the door unlocked, he would sort through the chaos to collect her delicate clothing and put it into soak (cold water). He would then clean, mopping if he needed to, always dusting the entire downstairs. He would serve lunch, soup in a bowl, with any leftover bread from the previous day. He would serve tea along with the lunch. He thought it odd but often the Lady would use the chipped cup for her tea.

After lunch, he would finish up with her clothes, shape the bread into a loaf for its second rising and then, depending on the day, would work in the rose garden, clean the sunken bathing tub, clean one of the upstairs rooms such as the library or Milady’s bedroom, or spend time with the horses or in the stables. He also began the daunting task of rehabilitating the kitchen garden, pulling out weeds, identifying some useful plants and repairing the pathways through the garden.

Lastly, in the afternoon, he would bake the bread. If there was any spare time he would spin. He would set the table with dinner for the Lady, eat supper in the kitchen and then clean up from dinner.

His life was very much as it had been before Aunt Marjorie had come to live with him and Bae. After her sister had passed, she had decided to join them. Once she had become part of his little household, she had taken over the cooking and laundry chores, as well as some of the gardening, leaving him more time to spin. He’d had more mouths to feed but there had been more resources to rely upon.

He thought, given the excellent quality of the food, the sturdy roof over his head, the warmness of the rooms despite the last throes of winters and with each passing day the coolness of the rooms despite the emerging summer heat, along with the warm baths (especially the warm baths) he might have been happy here.

But he missed his family.

He missed his family terribly.

He would lie awake at night wondering how they were getting along. Every morning and every evening he would look out across the battlements of the castle, in the direction he thought was home and think of them.

One evening, the Lady requested he take his evening meal with her. He sat quietly at her side picking at his food, his appetite disturbed by her presence.

“Do you like it here?” she asked him, her voice soft and low.

“I keep wondering how my son and my aunt are getting along,” he told her. _It came out all in a rush without once thinking that she might be offended or feel that he did not appreciate the comfort of the working conditions that she offered him._

She took several bites. “I can arrange for you to see them,” she told him. He looked up sharply. “After supper, I will show you.”

He could scarce contain himself. He felt like a child waiting for the Forest King to come at Solstice. He ate a few more bites and then implored himself to sit quietly. _How would this be done? What would she do?_

_He imagined them taking ghostly forms and visiting with his family, sitting down at the table with them, seeing but not being seen. He imagined looking down at them, as if from a cloud, like the spirit of a passed on family member watching over them as if they were insects going about their daily activities. He imagined – he could not imagine what she would do._

She must have taken pity on him, “Come,” and she rose from the table. “We will go to the North Tower. I trust I do not have to tell you not to touch anything.”

She drifted along the stone and brick pathways, her dark silken robes shimmering in the stray threads of moonlight that filtered through the scudding clouds. She led him to the North Tower, the forbidden tower, a black foreboding obelisk set off from the rest of the castle, apart from the protective fortress walls. They came to a large iron door. She placed her hand on the door and it swung open. They began climbing a spiral staircase of polished black marble. It ascended the tower with the occasional wall sconce to provide light along with the scant moonlight that came in through here and there from narrow windows. At the top of stairs, there was another iron door. Here she stopped and she used her fingernail to cut a line about an inch long in the palm of the other hand. A thin line of blood appeared. Then she placed her hand on the door, it opened and they were in a large round room. He knew they were at the top of the tower.

The room contained several tables covered with different items, some glass, some iron, some copper, some things he did not readily recognize. There were stools scattered around, several set at the different tables, some by the windows. There were a myriad of bottles, different sizes containing different colored potions. There were cauldrons and basins and kettles. There were books and scrolls and odd sheets of paper. There were odd devices, peculiar things and strange contrivances.

Milady walked over to one table where there was a particular shallow bowl made of burnished silver with an odd burled edge. He followed her cautiously. She first poured clear, clean water into the bowl. He had been keeping to the side of the table and he was surprised when she abruptly reached over and plucked a hair from his head.

“Ow! Why did you do that?” he asked, surprised at the sudden action.

“I needed it. And you’re not using it now,” she told him, waving off his concern.

He watched closely then as she slowly dropped his hair into the bowl. He momentarily pulled back when a swirling milky fog began to bubble and froth and then pour out of the bowl.

The fog then began to clear and, leaning over, he was astonished to see clear images. He could see Bae coming into the cottage, kissing Aunt Marjorie on the cheek and setting down what appeared to be. . . school books, setting them down on the table under the light from an oil lamp. The two looked healthy and happy. There were several intarsia blankets on the two cots in the cottage. (One of the cots had been his, the other had belonged to his Aunt Marjorie. Bae’s sleeping chamber was in a loft at the top of the cottage). Aunt Marjorie was ladling out a thick stew into brightly colored pottery bowls as they were sitting down to a meal. There was a vase of yard petunias sitting on the table.

Then Rumple noticed his chair was still at the table. He hadn’t realized it but he was crying and when a tear slid down his cheek and went into the bowl, the image cleared.

“There is a now a school in your village and your son attends. He is an excellent student, a bright boy. Your aunt is teaching some village youngsters how to dye and spin. Their little garden is beginning to produce some early crops. All of your lambs were healthy and the size of your herd has increased considerably,” Milady explained. She turned to him. “You are crying. Are you sad to see this?” She was clearly puzzled.

“No, not at all. I just miss them so much,” he confessed.

“But everyone is doing well. There’s food and shelter and nice, clean clothing.” She seemed confused.

“I miss them because I . . . I love them. I would like to see them, be with them,” he added the last part softly. “What do they think happened to me?” he ventured to ask.

She stood quietly a moment. “They believe that you are a prisoner of the Dark One.”

He sucked in his breathe. _Then they did not know that the Dark One was responsible for all their recent prosperity._

“You aren’t happy here?” she asked him. Her voice sounded like a young woman’s, even a girl’s, sweet and vulnerable. She sat down next to him on one of the stools and a faint fragrance drifted over to him. It made him nervous.

“I am well taken care of, Milady,” he began. “I have no complaints with how I’ve been treated – the work is not too hard and I have been provided with all basic needs as well as some things that are luxuries that I am very, very appreciative of.” He paused, “But I cannot help but miss my family.”

She looked pensive. “Family?”

“Yes, my family. Didn’t you have a family once?” he asked. _He wasn’t sure. Perhaps she had sprung up whole from the fires of Hell._

She sat for a very long time and he waited nervously, wondering what fearsome memories he had evoked, waiting for her response to his question.

“Poppa?” she said slowly. “Momma? I remember,” she was thoughtful and rose from her seat. She walked over to one of the many windows. “A long time ago. In the Before Time.”

“Where did your people live?” he asked.

At first she didn’t answer. It seemed to take her a moment to remember. “Avonleigh! My family was from Avonleigh!”

“Really?!” _Avonleigh had not existed in several hundred years! It had been carved up by at least three other kingdoms. His own education had been rudimentary, but even he knew this bit of history. It had once been a great empire but had fallen on difficult times._

“I was a princess, the king’s daughter,” she told him, turning to look him in the eyes.

“What happened?” _However did a royal princess from Avonleigh come to be mistress of the Dark Castle? Was she born the way she appeared to him now?_

Her face fell. “The ogres came. Then He came.” She seemed sad and had suddenly become distant.

She stood still a moment as if . . . as if . . . she was remembering something . . . something that made her sad. After a moment she looked up at him. “Would you perhaps like to learn to read and write, so you can write to your family?”

“I would very much. I can do sums, but there was never a school where I could go to learn to read or write,” he said to her. He was happy for the opportunity he was being provided, but curious about the Lady’s odd, sad story.

“I will teach you. . . But tomorrow,” she told him with the faintest smile

So now added to his other duties was a stint of time with the Lady of the Castle. She was not always available in the evenings, but during those times she was, they sat together in the library, on the second floor of the main tower. They worked together on a slate. She began by teaching him letters, their names and their sounds. She taught him a few simple words that he quickly memorized. He began to learn to write his name. He was a bright man and learned quickly.

“When I learn to read, may I read all the books in this library?” he asked her after a particularly rewarding lesson.

“Of course. All the books in this library are available to you,” she told him, smiling.

“I shall endeavor to work very hard at this reading,” he promised her.

The days went into weeks and the weeks into months. It was now early fall, one of the first cool days of the year. Their relationship had undergone some small but definite changes.

She spent more time at the castle and, at her request, he had begun to take his meals with her in the main dining hall. During these meals, they would talk over his day, how the horses were doing, how his lessons were going.

He would sometimes ask about her day, how things were going for her, what was she working on. Most often she would smile and turn the conversation back to him, but on some few occasions she would talk about her dealings with the barrage of petitioners that would call on her, their voices evidently carrying in the very air currents that flowed into the Castle, voices only she could hear.

There were always desperate souls who would call upon her, begging her help. Often their ‘needs’ were for things, more money, more jewels, more land. Often they would want her help in taking revenge on an enemy. They would want power . . . or another man’s wife. Those requests, he learned, she would grant, but only at great cost to those asking – and she clearly thought little of these petitioners.

There were others that he could tell that the Lady felt more kindly towards. Perhaps they wanted a child after years of an unfruitful marriage . . . or perhaps they would ask that health be returned to an ailing spouse . . . or to a child. For those petitioners, he could tell, the Lady would twist and turn in her efforts to assist them. He learned that she would still have to ask for payment.

She had to.

One evening, in a particularly forth-coming mood, she shared with him something of the nature of magic, that all magic came with a price. Someone had to pay. It could be the spell caster or the recipient of the benefits of the spell and sometimes, even, the price could be shared. But it always cost something and the greater the magics, the greater the cost.

“But this castle, all the wondrous things here. How much do these things cost you?” he asked concerned.

She gave him a small smile. “The Dark Castle is built on a nexus of lei lines, rivers of magical energies that run under the earth. The cost here is the energy it takes to harness the powers. As it turns out, it’s not very much. It’s more of a matter of directing the energy not conjuring the energy from within oneself.”

He now thought that he had gained some small understanding of the Lady. Now, when she would return from her sojourns, he was able to tell if she had pulled upon her own energies or if she had shifted the burden and charged the petitioner. He tended to cater as sensitively as he could to her needs when she returned drained and exhausted, knowing she had likely done some poor soul a great kindness. He would prepare her tea and carry it to her as she sat in her soft chair. He would bring her plush slippers to put on her feet. If he had dared, he would have massaged her shoulders – but he did not dare put his hands on her person.

\+ + + + +

“Come with me?” she came into the kitchen mid-morning. He had finished with the horses and there had not been enough laundry to bother with. The bread was rising, the soup cooking, the floors drying. He had practiced his reading and was now back to spinning some dark wool from some interesting roving he had found in his basket. He looked up.

“Milady?” he asked. He had never left the Castle since that Fateful Night and had never asked to.

“There’s a village nearby, Potsdam. I thought you might want to get out of the house and I would like to make some purchases.” She was dressed in sturdy leather pants with a grey silk blouse topped by a long leather vest. She wore a black hooded cloak over her other clothes.

“Yes ma’am,” he rose. “I’ll need to fetch my coat.” He took the soup from the stove but before he could leave the kitchen she was handing him his black furred-lined coat. She stepped back to look at him.

“These will not do,” she said. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but then she waved her hand and he found that his sensible linen pants had been replaced with soft, close fitting leather ones.

She stepped back to look him over. “You wear those well,” she told him and he thought he might actually be blushing.

He followed her out to the stables. She had already saddled the speckled stallion with the intelligent attitude and the pretty golden mare with the sweet temperament.

He hesitated. “Milady . . . “

She turned bemused, “What? Rumple, are you going to tell me that you don’t know how to ride?”

He gave her a weak smile. “I’m a sheepherder and spinner, Milady. I’ve never owned a horse.”

“But you’ve been around them? I’ve seen how well you care for them. You know something about horses,” she stated flatly.

He wasn’t able to meet her eyes _painful memories beginning to emerge._ “I tended horses a little when I was in the army, but I’ve never had one to ride.”

“Then it’s time you learned,” she told him gently. “Take this one,” and she handed him the reins of the little golden mare who was promptly nosing around Rumple _obviously looking for a treat from the man who often had one for her_. “You do know how to mount a horse?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” he told her getting on the left side of the horse. He awkwardly managed to get his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up and over, settling into the small saddle. The horse stood quietly. The Lady had already mounted her steed and was beginning out of the grounds.

“How . . . how do I get her to move?” he called out to her. She glanced back and turned her horse back to him.

“All right Rumple. Sit up and relax,” she directed him.

“How can I sit up _and_ relax?” he asked waspishly.

“Work on it,” she told him unsympathetically. “Squeeze her gently with your knees. Use the reins to steer her, just a tug. She’s an intelligent animal and will respond.” She demonstrated the necessary activities and the horse suddenly began moving, nearly throwing him off. The good-natured horse began to canter off in an odd direction. The Lady, laughing, clicked her tongue and the sweet mare then fell in behind the Lady’s stallion. They rode off at a slow and easy pace, Rumple still obviously unsettled and uncomfortable.

Fortunately for him the road to the village was well maintained and free of obstacles. As they approached the village he began noticing some things that were like his own home and some that were quite different.

The biggest difference was that this village was walled, built inside a protective barrier. The gates were open and there were no guards so he didn’t feel that the villagers lived under constant threat of danger. The shops were similar, but unlike his home village, these had a steady stream of customers.

He watched the villagers as they approached. They stilled and bowed their heads but did not run from the Lady. Mothers did not thrust their children behind themselves. No one muttered anything or made any sacred gestures as a measure of protection. She appeared to be respected but not overtly feared. They dismounted at the Inn and several children ran up to her.

“Lady, Lady, may I watch your horses, please?” they all asked. She looked them over.

“Let me see. I shall need two good horse watchers today,” she told them smiling. “Devon, your teachers tell me you have been slacking off with your math.”

The boy dropped his head. “It’s just so hard,” he protested.

“It is when you don’t practice your facts. I shall keep my eye on you and I will want a better report on you when I next come.”

“Yes ma’am,” the boy understood.

She then turned her attention to a small boy, bending down to talk to him. “I don’t believe I know you.”

The boy was skinny and very nervous. Rumple’s heart went out to the child, the boy reminding him so much of himself at that age.

“Petrous, ma’am,” the child’s voice trembled. He was dirtier than the others and his clothes raggedy.

“Ah yes. You shall watch the golden horse. She is very gentle. If you give her this apple,” and she pulled one out of her cloak, “she’ll be your friend. And,” she pulled out a second apple. “this apple’s for yourself.” The Lady stood and spotted an attractive young girl who had held back from the other urchins.

“Lydia. Your teachers still speak highly of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl replied politely.

“Still want to go to the city and become a Healer?”

“Yes ma’am. Madame Devros tells me I have Talent.”

“You do, child. Here, you watch my horse. He is too clever for his own good and will try to charm his way around you but don’t you fall for him,” she directed the girl.

She and Rumple then set off down the street. Quietly she shared with Rumple, “Petrous’s father abandoned the family and his mother has no other occupation than drinking. We will make sure the child gets some regular meals before we leave. Lydia is genuinely Talented and will likely replace the village’s Healer when her time comes. Devon is lazy and could be doing so much better. I would like him to find a position as an apprentice but he doesn’t show much aptitude in any area.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked her amazed.

“This village is bound to the Dark Castle. I’m aware of everything that happens here but I generally chose not to intervene,” she answered him offhandedly.

He was still trying to comprehend the breadth and depth of the Dark Lady’s mind when she went into the first shop.

He watched her. She would go into each shop, chat with the shop owner, asking about their families, sometimes giving advice, often buying something. He was surprised at some of her purchases, knowing that she could easily magic the item. The people seemed cautious but generally friendly around her.

They had made their way back to the Inn and she insisted they get a little something to eat before heading back home. There was a roasted chicken and root crops to eat. When she saw the innkeeper across the room she stood up.

“I want to be sure Petrous is getting at least one meal a day,” she told him before leaving him. Rumple sat by himself, contemplating if he might be able to roast a chicken as the inn had done. It appeared that the bird had been dressed and then placed inside an oven to cook. That seemed easy enough. It would give them something different to eat besides endless bean, cabbage and potato soup.

A short man sat down at the table next to him.

“You working for her?” the man asked gruffly.

He looked up. The man was short and bald and quite grumpy looking. “I am.” _It seemed an easier answer than explaining lifetime servitude in exchange for his life and the prosperity of his family._

“She’s not all bad, you know,” the man told him. “The old grandmothers tell the stories their grandmothers told them about the Dark One that used to live in the Castle. That he would take young women away and they would never be seen again, that he tied people to the land so they couldn’t leave and had no regard for their living conditions. People starved and crimes went unpunished. She’s not like that.”

Rumple nodded. He knew the reputation of the Dark One but had never seen direct evidence of predations or heinous acts by the Lady. But the reputation had come from somewhere.

“'Course, you’d never convince the clergy of that. They continually preach against her and try to rile up the village against her.”

_Really?!_

The gruff man nodded. “Them and the Fairies.”

At that moment the Lady returned and the gruff man returned to his beer.

“Good morning Grumpy,” the Lady greeted him kindly. “How goes the mining?” she asked him.

“Great sister. We opened up a new vein in that direction you told us to go. Thanks, that was good advice.”

“I’m glad,” she told him and returned her attention to the chicken and Rumple. “What do you think of my little village?” she asked him.

“Nice, very nice,” he answered.

“It was a disgrace when I first came here. Now I feel that people are not so afraid and they are comfortable coming and going. There’s plenty of food. It is usually peaceful, although there will always be some ordinary bickering.”  
“Grumpy,” he used the miner’s name self-consciously, “told me that things were better here now.”

“I should hope so. One should not destroy possible resources. Never know when you might need something.”

He rode home with her thinking things over. _Was she evil? He had always heard so. He, untalented and unschooled, could feel her power wafting off of her and he had seen pieces of her abilities. At the moment he was thinking that she was more of a benign power, leaning towards helping people._

\+ + + + +

Now, most often in the evenings, they would sit quietly together in the sitting room before he would retire. _He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think she spent much time, perhaps even any time, sleeping. Her bedroom seemed to be used more for storing her clothes._

During these evenings, he would usually sit at his spinning wheel which he had moved to the sitting room from the kitchen. Sometimes she would read to him and sometimes, he to her. If she read, he would spin wool. If he was reading, she would do needlepoint or engage in some other ladylike endeavor. She often praised his reading, the progress he was making.

One evening he dared to show her a short letter he had written to his family.

“Milady, with your permission, I would like to send this to my family.” When she didn’t say anything he ventured to read the short missive.

_“To my darling son and my dearest Aunt Marjorie. I wanted you to know that I am well. I love you and miss you. Rumple.”_

She finally nodded and held out her hand. A lovely white dove flew down from . . . he didn’t know. The Lady touched the letter, shrinking it and rolling it up. She attached it to the bird with a delicate ribbon, whispered something to the bird and released it.

He wondered what his family would do when the letter came. Would they be happy? Worried? Relieved?


	4. Kindness, in Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple continues to work in the Dark Castle and learn the ways of the Lady and magic.

Rumple had no way of hearing back from his family and was too fearful to ask the Lady for another viewing in the mirror bowl. He did continue to write them letters, at least once a month, which the Lady would send out to them by dove. He would always reassure them that he was doing well.

He had been at the Dark Castle for more than half a year when at breakfast one morning Milady shared with him that she would be going away for a little while. This time she anticipated being gone for several days, probably more than a week. She had been called out on an urgent request – something to do with ogres. She warned him not to let anyone onto the castle grounds, not to trust anyone who came by and to be very wary of going off the castle grounds because of the wolves and other fell creatures that were simultaneously drawn to and repelled by the dark magic of the castle. Such creatures often wandered near the grounds.

He nodded and bowed to her, curious how the magic would work without the Dark Lady there to channel it for an extended period.

She looked at him and smiled, raising her hand to touch his hair. He did not know, did not even suspect as she disappeared into a swirl of dark vapor that she was wondering if he would be there when she returned.

She was gone for more than a week. It was the longest time she had ever been gone at one time.

Rumple had persisted with his chores, relieved that the magic continued to work with no problems. He struggled, as he always had, to do his best with the roses. The plush, large flowers still bloomed as often and as profusely as they had in the early spring when he had first come to the Castle. They, like the Lady’s lingerie, would let him know if he were making errors in their care, caressing him with their velvet petals when they approved of his actions or swatting him with one of their sinuous canes, even pricking him with a thorn, if he was in serious violation of some aspect of their care.

It was the horses that drew most of his attentions. He had been very sore after his ride into the village and very aware of his awkward riding skills. He, of course, had not been allowed as a peasant to own or ride a horse. But he knew how to saddle one and certainly how to take care of them.

The horses seemed comfortable with him and one morning he donned the leather pants and went outside to them. He had decided he would try again to ride one. He picked Daffodil, the name he had given the pretty golden coated female, the same horse he had ridden into the village. Daffodil had a long blonde mane and tail and a very gentle nature. He talked to her quietly, put a saddle on her and, cautiously, hoping she wouldn’t throw him off, got on her back. She seemed quite accustomed to being ridden and accepting of him; she accepted his kindly hand with no problems. He knew that Anvil (so named for his stocky build and black coat) and especially Spirit (a mottled silver colored animal with behavior that suggested intelligence and willfulness – who was the Lady’s preferred mount) were unlikely to be so accepting, but the next day, confident after his success with Daffodil, he tried Anvil and the following day he tried Spirit. Meeting with unexpected success with all three animals, he continued riding them, usually just around the bailey. Spirit surprised him the second day by jumping over a fence. He managed to hold on and after recovering, began more fence jumping. The horse seemed to enjoy the activity and in time, Rumple developed better skills than just managing to hold on.

_At this time he had the thought of taking one of the horses and clearing out, perhaps with some bits and pieces of some of the smaller but valuable items._

_But he had not._

_In part, he was afraid of what tragedy might befall his village if he left The Lady. Despite all the kindness she had shown him, he imagined that she would be furious and would level the place. But even if she shrugged her shoulders and went back to her lonely existence without taking vengeance, he had promised her he would stay. He really tried to keep his word whenever he could._

_Others did not credit him with trustworthiness, with vow-keeping. He rubbed his ankle which the Lady had graciously healed. In many places, he had a well-established history of presumed cowardice. His wife had left him because of it. His son was often ostracized because of it. Aunt Marjorie had been rejected by some of the other villagers because she had chosen to stand by him and his young son and had taken them up on their hospitality._

_If by staying here at the Dark Castle, he could buy prosperity and respectability for his son and aunt, then stay here he would._

_And he had said he would stay._

Rumple continued doing his chores, practicing his reading and writing in the Library, even doing more exploring around the grounds. It was far larger than the two towers and the stables that he had been focused on during his first months in the place. There was still that basement below the kitchen – more of a dungeon really and he still couldn’t bring himself to descend into the dark cold cavernous region. He had not been forbidden the basement but he was still very uncomfortable in the vicinity of the door that led down the stairs. As his meager knowledge of magic had grown he suspected that what he was sensing was the taint of very dark magic and he was not eager to discover what horrors might lie under the Castle. There were numerous other little towers along the curtain walls of the castle and many narrow stairways. He began carefully to explore them all. He did stay away from the North Tower. He’d seen enough of magic to have real respect for what he already knew was there – blood magic for sure, dark magic he believed.

Another part of his additional time had been spent using his elemental reading skills and the cookbook his mistress had provided him his first day in the Castle. He had been delighted to find a recipe for roast chicken – his own initial attempts had resulted in various culinary disasters, ranging from burnt to raw and combinations of the two. Using the cookbook he had mastered the new dish.

He was now using the book to try to make a light bread that he remembered the village baker would make – something called biscuits. The village baker’s biscuits were light and fluffy and would melt in your mouth. He knew how to measure out butter that was the size of an egg but the other measures were difficult for him. He wasn’t sure what a salt spoon measurement was nor how much a saucer of flour would be. The Ever Providing Drawer was a godsend. As he struggled to work out many of the measurements, such as a gill or a dessert spoon, he would ask the Drawer for the measurement tool. He still wasn’t quite sure what the difference between a dash and pinch was but had learned the new measurements to add to his previous understanding of a peck and a teacup.

Still learning to cook new recipes had been a tedious process. Steps seemed to have been missed in many of the recipes and he had thrown away many of his earlier inedible efforts. Over time, his tenacious experiments yielded improvement. He had finished up with a successful batch of biscuits this particular morning which he planned on having with sweet butter and some blackberry jam for an evening treat. He had returned his attentions to his routine chores.

He was scrubbing the black and white checked marble floor in the front hall, a noxious job he set to about once a week, when he heard the knock on the door. He froze. _No one should be able to get through the Lady’s wards he had told himself._ He rose and looked at the door, debating what to do.

_It could be a traveler, someone down on their luck, someone in the same desperate straits that he had been in when he had arrived at the castle. To dismiss them, ignore them -- that invited bad luck._

_But what if it was someone seeking to make mischief against the Dark Lady? She certainly had her share of enemies. He had suspected that and Grumpy the Miner had confirmed the notion. The more Rumple had learned about her affairs the more he realized that her deals were eminently honest, but people seemed to ignore the fine print. They would make the deals when desperate and she would be able to set whatever terms she desired._

_He had also learned that magic always demanded a price that many were not willing to pay. He knew that someone had to pay the price of magic, whether the beneficiary of the spell or the caster of the spell. Most of the disgruntled weren’t willing to pay the price._

The knock on the door sounded again and he opted to open the door.  _Surely her wards would prevent something truly dangerous from getting through._

It was a frail old woman, in a homespun cloak, leaning on a cane.

“Grandmother,” he greeted the old woman familiarly. “May I help you?” He reminded himself to remain wary. Things were not always as they appeared to be, especially here in the Dark Castle but it was always wise to offer succor to the ill, to the elderly and to young children.

“May I trouble you for a glass of water?” the old woman asked weakly.

“Please, come in and sit down. I’ll fetch you water.” He led her into the kitchen and had her sit at the worktable. He quickly brought her a glass of their fresh water. She eagerly took it. “May I offer you something to eat?” he asked then.

“You are so kind,” she told him. “That would be lovely. I have traveled far and long.”

As he prepared her a plate of food, including one of his biscuits (with butter and jam), some ham and some cheese, he asked, “Where are you coming from?”

“A small village. I had received word that my granddaughter was about to give birth and I decided to make the trip to her town.” The old woman had dropped her hood. She had white hair and dark blue eyes that looked at him clearly, despite the withered and weathered lines of her face. “Foolish of me, but when I was younger the walk was easy. . . and,” she smiled at him, “shorter.”

“I understand,” he told her kindly and set the plate in front of her.

“You work here?” she asked him.

“I do,” he answered.

“Interesting. Before the Lady was always by herself.”

“You are acquainted with the Lady?” he had to ask.

“We are old acquaintances,” the old woman told him. “I’ve known her a very long time.”

“She’s just stepped out,” he told her feeling it wasn’t a good idea to let the old woman know that he didn’t know where the Lady was – after all he couldn’t be absolutely sure that this really was an old woman before him.

“Then it is likely I shall miss her.” The old woman straightened up. “But Rumplestiltskin, you are the one that I really came by to see.”

He froze. _She knew his name!_ He did not make any response.

“I know that you are her prisoner here, that she forces you to drudge for her.”

“We made an agreement. She has kept her end and I have kept mine,” he told her stepping back from the woman.

“But she took advantage of you.”

“She saved my life,” Rumple told her. “Who are you?”

“Someone who can save you,” the old woman stood up and slowly her clothes changed from grey rags to sparkling blue lace and netting

Rumple recognized her from descriptions he had heard in the old tales. A beautiful creature that would grant favors to the deserving. “You’re the Blue Fairy!”

“I am. I can lead you out and away from here. I can promise your son and aunt will not suffer from any repercussions. Come with me. The Dark Lady can only bring you misery.”

Rumple actually considered the offer . . . for about half a second. “I made an agreement,” he said softly.

“She is evil and will corrupt you,” the Blue Fairy insisted.

“I made a promise. I do my best to never break a promise,” he told her.

“All you have to do is give me your hand,” the Blue Fairy told him and held out her glittering arm. She extended her hand and fingers to him.

He stood absolutely still.  

“Come Rumplestiltskin, come,” the Blue Fairy urged, her voice soft and seductive.

“After he’s offered you food and drink, warmth and shelter, in my house, this is how you act?”

Rumple spun around and found that he was looking into the eyes of the Lady, no longer blue with their usual vertical slits but fully black. She was the one who had spoken and she did not look happy.

“Belle,” the Blue Fairy said, stepping back. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m sure you did or you would have never entered my house. You took advantage of my servant, tricking him into inviting you in and then . . . and then, you try to get him to break his vow to me. I thought you were supposed to be good and right and honorable.” Rumple could tell that his Lady was furious.

“He is an innocent,” the Blue Fairy told her.

“So was I . . . once,” the Lady told her. “Get out.”

“Belle,” the Blue Fairy began.

“Get out. Now,” the Lady ordered.

And there was a puff of white smoke and the fairy was gone.

“Blue bitch!” Belle began. “She came here to steal you away from me! She came here to hurt me by taking you!”

Rumple thought he could _see_ stringing waves of dark angry energies expanding from the woman. The light seemed to dim and an acrid sickening tinge of blood and smoke filled the room

“I would not have left you Milady,” he reassured her. “I promised to stay.”

She looked at him and slowly he could see the anger drain from the woman and the blue begin to return to her eyes. “You were not going to go with her?” she asked him.

“I promised to stay with you,” he repeated.

She stared at him a long moment and her eyes became more and more their usual blue. Finally, she slowly smiled at him. “So you did. So you did.” She then took his hand. “Come.” And she led him along the winding path up to the North Tower, again using her nail to cut into her hand which she then pressed against the door at the top of the tower.

He timidly entered the large room which took up the entire top floor of the tower. He did not feel comfortable here, the smell of dark magics evident even to one such as himself. She had him stand aside while she gathered some materials together. She then picked up an athame, a sharp black-handled knife. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping back as she approached him.

It suddenly occurred to her that he was likely feeling menaced by the knife. She stopped and gave him a quick smile. “I need to take your blood. I shall re-do my wards so that anyone who means you harm will not be able to pass through.”

“Milady?” he wasn’t sure what she meant by needing to _take his blood_.

“I need to cut your finger for a few drops,” and she held out her hand to him.

Trembling he held out his hand and closed his eyes. He felt one of her hands on his hand and then the cold blade of the knife nicked his thumb. He held still a moment and then heard her say, “That should do it.” She released him. He opened his eyes. She was back at one of the worktables and had proceeded to cut her own thumb. She mixed the blood into other liquids in a large flask and then she heated the flask. He dare not move but stood and watched her work.

The Sorceress used her hands to caress the air around the flask and things began to glow yellow and red. She was murmuring something and the glow began to grow, a fiery red as it reached out around her. He braced himself expecting it to feel like heat and fire. As it filled the space between her hands, it washed over him like an ocean wave, not hot but strong and powerful. She separated her hands, stretching her arms apart. The glow soon enough expanded to fill the room and then poured out of the windows of the tower room. As it left the room he could see that it surrounded the castle grounds. Something that sounded like thunder filled the room and then the glow as gone.

She seemed to have forgotten that he was present and, when she turned, she was surprised to see him.

“Oh yes, of course. I did bring you up here.” She again held out her hand to him. “Let’s go back and get an early supper. Those biscuits with the ham and cheese looked excellent.” She spoke to him pleasantly.

“Yes, Milady,” he told her, still trembling. Back in the kitchen, he added some freshly brewed hot tea to the meal and the two enjoyed a simple meal together sitting in the kitchen. He had only seen her work small magics beside the viewing bowl and her raising the cone of power had been disconcerting.

“What have you been doing while I’ve been gone?” she asked him.

“I’ve been doing my chores, my usual chores. I’ve explored more in the castle and on the grounds. And . . .” he paused, still piecing together this slight woman with the show of power he had just seen. She waited. He confessed, “I saddled and rode the horses . . . even Spirit.”

“You’re good with animals, aren’t you?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. I had sheep and goats, and of course a dog that I took care of in the village and I know my herd did well. I don’t know.”

“You didn’t think of taking one of the horses and riding away?” she asked him neutrally.

He hesitated, “I did, but I promised you I would stay.” They both sat quietly for a while. “Milady?”

“Yes?”

“The Blue Fairy. How was she able to enter your grounds? I thought you had protections that would have stopped her.”

The Dark Lady looked at him, her eyes narrowed slits. “My protections were designed to keep out things that meant harm to _me_. She was able to slip in _between_ with the intent of saving you, of stealing you away from me. She had no intention to confront me and therefore meant no harm to me. I have . . . corrected this oversight. She will not be able to enter my grounds again without my permission.”

“Why . . . why does she hate you?” he asked her knowing he was risking her anger.

She looked at him and blinked. “Oh Rumple. Don’t you know? I am the Darkness That Walks. I am evil incarnate. I am every wrong impulse, every sick desire, every pain, every bit of suffering that people can endure.”

“I don’t see that,” he told her earnestly. “I’ve never seen you hurt someone or mislead anyone. I’ve seen you take care of children and honor your agreements.”

“You haven’t seen me as I truly am,” she told him slowly and sorrowfully. “Be grateful.”

\+ + + +

There were the rare welcomed guests. Rumple particularly like a tall, slender man that the Lady referred to as Hatter. He would often sit with Rumple in the kitchen and the two men would share a beer, often talking about their children. Rumple gathered that the Hatter would run errands for the Lady from time to time.   His talent, as far as Rumple could tell, was something called _realm jumping_ ; the Hatter could easily go to far, far places in an instant. The Lady would pay him in gold and jewels.

“You’ve been good for her,” the Hatter told him one afternoon coming by unannounced. The Lady was up in the North Tower and Rumple refused to disturb her. The Hatter had been content to wait in Rumple’s kitchen, eating his bread and cheese and drinking beer.

Rumple looked up. He was attempting to make a spiced cake and was mixing the batter.

“What was she like before . . . before I came?” he asked.

“Well, there have been others, you know,” the Hatter began.

“No, I didn’t know,” Rumple told him.

“She doesn’t like to expend magic if she doesn’t have to, although she probably has more magic at her disposal than anyone anywhere. She prefers to have mundane chores done by hand. She’s had several girls in here to work but they’ve never lasted more than a few weeks. Usually they end up stealing some of her jewels and running out. I think, yes, I’m pretty sure that you are the first man she’s had. She’s not been at all like Queen Regina who keeps young men around for amusement. I think that The Lady has always been uncomfortable around men. Of course after being Zoso’s slave, I can only imagine why.”

“Zoso?” That was a name Rumple had not heard before.

“The previous Dark One,” the Hatter explained. “I don’t know much about him except that he was a loathsome toad . . . and a mean one.”

“She was his slave?” Rumple was horrified to learn this. _His delicate Lady had been a slave to some brute?!_

“So go the rumors. But no one really know. After all, it was at least three hundred years ago. She’s the only Dark One I’ve ever known and she’s been nothing like the nightmare stories I’ve read about.” The Hatter finished his beer and fetched a second one. “You have that great library upstairs. I’m sure there are some bogey-man tales about the Dark One coming in to steal babies, violate virgins and burn villages.”

“She does nothing but help people!” Rumple rose quickly to her defense. _Oh yes, he knew there were those who were not happy with their deals, idiots who did not read the fine print on their contracts, those who would want to renege when they discovered they were actually expected to pay the cost of their bargain. But he could not wrap his head around the idea that she was evil – despite what she had said about herself, despite what the Hatter was saying._

The Hatter smiled at him. “She likes you, I think, so you’ve not seen her in full Dark One mode. She can be terrifying when she’s pissed. I’ve seen her level armies, turn people into snails or bugs.” He stopped and took a long swig of his beer. “I witnessed some fuckwit calling her a blue-skinned freak. Apparently that offended her. She ripped his heart out of his chest and . . . crushed it.” At Rumple’s horrified expression, the Hatter emphasized, “ _I saw her do this._ ” He sat back and continued gently, “I’ll admit it’s unusual for her, but she is very capable of brutality. It’s just not her usual style. Usually she’s like a royal princess, gracious and kind but . . . distant.”

\+ + + +

Rumple did begin to search in the Library for some information, any information on The Dark One. There were so many books and he couldn’t readily discern any organization or order of placement. Some were not in his native tongue and those he put back reluctantly. Going shelf by shelf he did stumble into some history books. He began to look through these. Most were uninformative but in a few he would catch references to a dark force that would sometimes impact on the events of history – a creature possessing unimaginative power that could flatten castles and kill multitudes, a wild unruly force of nature. Some rulers had risen that controlled this entity and their kingdoms conquered those around them using the powers of this entity. From his best calculations it was over a thousand years ago when someone first used the term “The Dark One.” But it had certainly not always been his Lady or even this Zoso character that the Hatter had referred to. It was usually a male, but not always – there had been other females that had served this role.

_But where did they come from? Why were some free agents and others under the control of mere mortals? How did the mantle pass from one Dark One to another?_

He sensed that these were not questions the Lady would be eager to answer.

He continued his research and came upon a history of the Kingdom of Avonleigh. He recognized the name as the birthplace of his Lady. She had been a princess, he recalled her telling him. The kingdom had been a vibrant, thriving place with just laws, an emphasis on education for all, advancement for those willing to work for it, an idyllic country with mild temperatures and plenty of food. It was a rich kingdom with prosperous trade – and this was what had likely attracted the ogres. They had come over the mountains to wreak havoc, shattering towns and killing many. The king had appealed for help from his clerics. Their prayers did nothing to stop, even slow down the ogres. He had appealed for help from the fairies. Their spells slowed the ogres but did not stop their advancement. Desperate, the king had called upon The Dark One.

Rumple read with growing trepidation. The Dark One had answered the call. His price was not stated but it had been terrible, beyond comprehension, and the king had initially refused to pay it. But with continuing predations from the ogres, something had happened. Evidently the price was paid and the ogres disappeared. However, the king was devastated and withdrew from all political life. The kingdom began to fall into disarray and crime and mayhem became increasingly common occurrences. With no leadership, neighboring kingdoms who had long eyed rich Avonleigh began to make forays into the outlying areas. Over time, conquering armies moved in and within a generation, the kingdom of Avonleigh was no more.

_Had his Lady been the price the Dark One had demanded, the king’s only daughter? Had she stepped forward and offered herself to save her people?_

If so, Rumple thought, the Dark One had done a poor job of saving the kingdom. Perhaps they had simply asked that he rid them of the ogres. In his short time at the Dark Castle, Rumple had learned that magic and deal making often turned on the fine point of a single word and likely the desperate Avonleights had not thought through their request.

_What a waste it had all been. The princess had saved her people from the ogres but not from the neighboring kingdoms. It had all been for nothing._

He had other thoughts, darker, gloomier thoughts. _What had the monster done to her, to his delicate, fragile Lady?_


	5. This Kind Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Spinner Rumple and Dark Lady Belle continues to develop with some sweet moments and a bumpy patch.

The Lady continued to be gone frequently, on and off, during the coming weeks. Sometimes she was gone for only a few hours, sometimes she would be gone for many days. She would never say where she had been or what she had been doing and he, in his position as her servant, he did not ask – although he was most curious. Sometimes she would bring back things, jewels, carvings, scrolls, all manner of things, which he now knew were the price of the magic she wielded. These things disappeared into varying cubbyholes of the castle. Sometimes he would find things in her bedchamber or in the library. Sometimes he would find them in dark, back rooms. He had learned that these items often had no value to her although they had been of value to those she dealt with. This added to his understanding of how the cost of magic was paid.

Although most things were mundane, there were those few items that were clearly magical, like the Singing Harp. It had been left in the main dining hall and he had come into the room to clean. He had noticed it on the table, but before he could approach it, it started to play.

The next thing he knew, the Lady was kneeling on the floor next to him.

“You fell asleep,” she explained. He looked up and around surprised at finding himself lying on the floor.

“Milady?! I’m sorry. I just walked in here and . . .” he looked around. _What was it he had seen?_ "There was a harp.”

“Careless of me to have left it out. It put you to sleep. Fortunately I remembered I’d left the thing out. I came in and found what had happened. I put it . . . I put it _somewhere_ that it will not affect you again.”

He rubbed his head and stood, groggy and confounded.

“Thank you, Milady,” he told her, wondering what might have happened to him if she had not returned to get the harp. He went back to his work and he could tell she had gone out again.

This last outing was proving to be one of the longest that she had been gone. It was more than two weeks before the Lady returned. Rumple had been out working with the horses, stopping only because it was becoming dark. He was considering grabbing a quick bath before preparing supper when she appeared abruptly in the sitting room. She was covered in red-brown spatters and streaks. She was accompanied by a crying . . . _something_.

“Milady!” he immediately ran to her aide. He caught her as she crumpled into him. He picked up and carried her slight form to the long comfortable sofa that was set in this room and gently laid her down. At that point he turned and confronted . . .

A tiny red dragon.

It was frantically flying around, periodically shooting short bursts of flames from its maw.

“Now, now, my sweet darling,” he held out his hand and allowed the poor thing to settle on him. He gently stroked it, calming it down, talking to it like he would a reluctant lamb or Bae when he had been small and had fallen and scraped his knee. _Damn, he didn’t have anything immediately available to feed it. That would likely seal its friendship._

“In a moment little dearie,” he set his hand next to the side arm of the sofa and nudged the dragon on to it. The little thing stepped over and still furling and unfurling its wings, still spitting the occasional burst of fire and still displaying eyes of whirling green and gold, settled precariously. Then he returned his attention to the Dark Lady. He realized that she needed to be cleaned up and made a dash back to the bathing area to get a cloth and dampen it. When he returned, he cautiously began to wipe down her arms and her neck and shoulders, cleaning off sticky red residue that he recognized as blood.  He reached down and pulled off her boots. Her gown had been soaked with the blood but he was very hesitant to go further.

“Help me,” he heard her and steeled himself. He had been a married man, after all. He did have some experience with the female form – comprised mostly of awkward fumblings in the dark and culminating in finding heated, wet release. He was, however, unfamiliar with female forms with silver-blue scales and a delightful pertness. He took a deep breath and began to peel the dress down her arms. Slowly he revealed her body to his eyes, lace underpinings shielding her from a too intrusive inspection. All the while he would gently wipe the blood from her. He did not see that there were any injuries. None of the blood seemed to be hers. He relaxed in relief.

But the delicate lacy underthings were also soaked in blood. Reluctantly, he took a deep breath and peeled them off of her, doing everything he could not to look but he couldn’t help but feel her softness beneath his hand as he cleaned her off. Satisfied that she was as clean as a sponge bath could do, he fetched a silken sheet and a soft blanket to cover her up.

Soon enough, the Lady appeared to be sleeping, her breathing regular and deep. He placed one of the chair cushions under her head, using it as a pillow. There was a small fire in the room so she would stay warm. He then glanced up at the little dragon who was watching him warily with glowing green eyes. Not quite so agitated now, he held out one hand to the little thing.

“Come on, little one. Let’s see to you now. I’m suspecting you’re hungry.” The dragonet jumped onto his hand and he carried it back through the bathing room, the dining room and down into the kitchen, petting it and talking softly to it. He could not see any injuries on this little animal, no obvious wounds on its body, the wings intact. On the way to the kitchen he _thought_ about what he wanted to find in the larder and opened it up to take out some raw meat, already chopped up. He set the dragonet on the counter and began to feed the little creature -- who was evidently quite hungry. The little thing stuffed itself and then yawned and hiccupped, a little smoke coming from its maw. He held out his hand and the dragonet crawled over to him and he picked it up, cradling it in his arms, like a baby. He took it back into the sitting room and checked on the Lady. He laid the sleepy dragon down on a corner of the sofa and it curled up like a cat to sleep. He then sat down in a chair next to the sofa to keep an eye on both.

He must have fallen asleep. “Rumple, Rumple.” He heard someone calling him. “Rumple, I was thinking of getting a bath.” He startled awake and noted morning light coming in through the high windows of the sitting room.

“Milady!” He sat up. The sorceress was sitting up on the sofa. She had pulled the sheet up demurely around herself.

“Thank you for cleaning me up,” she said to him as she slid off the sofa. He averted his eyes only catching the movement of the sheet.   She had wrapped herself up in it. “I allowed myself to be trapped in a difficult situation with an old dragon. They are powerful magic users and they use some very old magic. But fortunately for me it is also very dark magic and I have no problems dealing with dark magic.” She looked back at the sleeping dragonet. “What is this?”

“It came back with you. I thought you had brought it,” he told her.

“Well, let’s not keep referring to her as ‘it.’ This is a young dragon lizard queen. She must have decided I was her friend. I hope she didn’t scorch you. They can be rather vicious.”

“She didn’t,” Rumple told her. “I fed her and she went to sleep.”

The Lady chuckled. “They are rather like cats. Keep them fed and they sleep a lot.” She headed towards the bathing room. “Well?” she stopped and turned to look at him.

“Milady?”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Milady?” he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him.

“I need you to scrub my back. And truth be told, you smell like you could use a bath yourself,” he heard her call back to him as she disappeared into the bathing chamber.

“I. . . I . . . I had been out with the horses earlier,” he began stammering, “and was planning to bathe right as you came back. You . . . you needed attention so . . . so I didn’t. I . . . I . . . I thought you needed someone looking out for you.” Nervous, he stepped into the bathing room.

She turned and gave him a gentle smile. “I did. Thank you, Rumple. Now come with me.”

He followed her on into the bathing room. _Was he understanding her correctly? She wanted him to get in the bath with her?_

_He didn’t know about this._

He had turned his back to her as she dropped the sheet and then slid into the deep bathing pool. “Come on. If you need me to, I shall look away.” She might have been laughing at him.

Hesitantly he began to remove his clothing and slipped into the warm water. She had poured some foaming soap into the bathing pool and there was a white frothy layer that protected his modesty.

“You’ve never bathed with a woman before,” she stated it rather than asking him.

“No ma’am,” he told her. “This bathing pool was actually the first real bath I’d ever experienced.”

“Really?” she seemed surprised. “Here,” she handed him one of the washing clothes and turned her back to him. “Wash my back.”

He gently rubbed the soft cloth over her shoulders, then used his fingers to massage her shoulders, his fingers and hands touching her skin. She nearly purred as she leaned back into his hands, encouraging the contact. As he had noted last night, she felt soft yet firm, a woman’s body.

“I am always surprised that you are still here when I return,” she told him, closing her eyes for a moment and relaxing against him.

“I made a deal,” he told her, surprised she was still concerned about him abandoning her.

“I always think you will take the opportunity and leave. I am always glad to find you still here. I . . . I’ve grown . . . fond of you in some ways. You’re pleasant company. You have a bright, quick mind. You’re amazingly good with animals. You’re . . . very nice,” she told him, looking over her shoulder at him. She lifted her arms to watch the soap bubbles run down back into the water. She sighed, “I guess I’ve been lonely.”

“I can understand loneliness,” he told her. He was moving the cloth slowly across her shoulders and down her arms. He took some of the other soap and began to wash her hair, running his fingers around her scalp. She closed her eyes, allowing him to massage her head.

“That’s nice,” she murmured and again leaned back into him, this time her back settling into his front, their legs touching from his thigh to his toes

He held himself stiff, as if she was scalding him, cursing his body for responding to her strange allure. _He kept reminding himself that this was his mistress, his very powerful sorceress mistress, his sorceress mistress who turned people into snails and ripped people’s hearts out._

Milady sat back up and turned towards him. “You seem very nervous,” she observed.

“Yes ma’am,” he told her dropping his eyes.

“Is it . . . is it because I don’t look like other women?” she asked almost shyly.

_She thought he was rejecting her?!_ “I think you are more beautiful than other women,” he told her honestly. “Forgive me, I am only an uneducated, barely literate peasant so I do not have the fine words I need to tell you how beautiful I think you are.”

He bit his lip and went on, “Near my village, there is a delicate, precious flower that is considered the most beautiful of all flowers. It blooms near rocky, icy streams in the very early spring but only, only if the weather, the rain and the temperature, all of these have been exactly right. The tiny perfect blossoms appear amid the dark green vining leaves and are not easy to see even when you are looking for them. . . and they bloom only for a single afternoon. The color of the blossoms are a brilliant blue and have been deemed by the wisest among us as the most beautiful blue that is. I have been blessed to see these flowers twice in my life and I would have agreed they are the most beautiful of all the blues . . . until I saw your eyes.”

She turned so that now she was looking up at him, her eyes meeting his. “For an uneducated, barely literate peasant you do well enough with your words,” she told him. “So you think my eyes are beautiful?”

“I think _you_ are beautiful,” he did not drop his eyes.

“You know the ways between a man and woman?” she asked him.

“I have been married and I have a son,” he told her. _She knew this already. What did she want from him?_

“I want you to kiss me,” she told him.

“I’m . . . I’m afraid, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to . . . to please you,” he confessed to her, looking away. “I’ve only ever been with my wife and she often told me that I was not able to . . . to be much of a husband to her.”

“I just want to kiss you,” The Dark Lady repeated. “Just kiss. Nothing else.” And she drew him towards her, bringing his lips to hers.

At first their lips just pressed together. Her lips were petal soft and sweet. Slowly, he became more daring and began to nudge her mouth open. He brought a hand up behind her head so that he could hold her in place, threading his fingers through her wet, slick hair. He slanted his head so that he had better access and began to kiss her more thoroughly. She was warm and, oh so, feminine, shyly responsive. When he heard a little whimper, he allowed his tongue a short tentative foray into her mouth, outlining her lips. Her tongue followed his. They briefly separated gazing into each others eyes. He shifted her weight so that she was sitting on his lap _on top of his thoroughly hardened cock_ and pulled her back to him.

“You taste good,” she murmured at some point.

“You taste delicious,” he told her.

When he dropped his hands to her waist, she pulled back. “No,” she told him. “Please no.”

He nodded and brought his hands back to her shoulders and then slipped one hand up into her hair again. He leaned in to kiss her again and she lifted her face to his.

They kissed until they were both dizzy, exploring the taste and texture of each others mouth and lips. They kissed until the water became cool. They kissed until the sun was streaming through the high window of the bathing chamber. They kissed until the bubbles in the water had dissolved and were but a glistening memory.  

Rumple realized that this kissing was her limit _and he would not dare cross over to where he had not been invited._ As the temperature of the water cooled, the day began to intrude and he became increasingly aware of the routine requirements that had been laid on him. He had chores that couldn’t wait -- he had to attend to the horses, he had breakfast to fix, he had clothes to wash, he had floors to sweep, he had a dragonet queen to feed. “I want to stay here, with you,” he began slowly. “But I think I should attend to the duties you have set for me.”

She smiled at him, her arms resting on his shoulders. “Thank you, Rumple. I had been through a trial and needed closeness and kindness.” She gave him a final quick kiss on his lips and pulled herself out of the sunken pool, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. He did the same, again averting his eyes so that he would not gawk at her nude form.

They both dried off. Milady _called_ down some fresh clothing for herself and for Rumple. She re-dressed into a simple silk black dress with fringe on the hemline using but a wave of her hands to accomplish the task. Meanwhile he quickly pulled on underclothing, pants and a tunic shirt. They returned to the sitting room where, on the sofa, the little fire-lizard was beginning to stir. She opened one eye, stretched and when she saw Rumple, she flew over to him and perched on his shoulder. She nudged his ear with her muzzle and made little chirping sounds.

“I think you’ve made a conquest,” the Dark Lady observed.

“I think she’s got an empty gullet. I’ll get everyone some breakfast . . . or luncheon,” he gave his mistress a nod and set off to the kitchen.

Cold roast chicken, toast, sharp cheddar, some end of season tomatoes . . . simple, plain food. He put a kettle on to make some tea. He also fed the little dragon a little more of the raw meat. After eating her fill, she flew off his shoulder and set herself up on top of a cabinet. She folded her wings and watched him, her eyes each now comprised of a black vertical slit within a marble of solid emerald green.

He quickly had the food ready and put it all on a tray to carry into the dining area. The dragonet followed him and settled on the light that hung over the table. The silky black dress the lady had chosen for herself clung to her figure and hugged all her curves. She wore no jewelry to compliment the silky dress. As Rumple put the tray down, he looked at her.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.    

She gave him a gentle smile. “You are too.” And she held out her hand to him. He took it and sat down beside her.

And at this moment, he felt warm and kindly towards his mistress, despite the darkness he had been told dwelt within her.

\+ + + + +

It was several days later. There had been no repetition of their kissing but she had seemed almost happy around him, smiling more often and often he would catch her quietly regarding him. He found himself often quietly regarding her.

Then there was a crash in the main dining hall.

Rumple hurried out from the kitchen where he had been working on mixing a cake with a delicacy the Lady had brought back to him, something she had called chocolate. He stopped as soon as he got to the door of the dining hall.

The Lady with her eyes blackened had her hand extended and, floating in midair, was a man holding a wand.

“Tell me how you got in?” she was asking him, her voice hissing.

“I just got in,” the man managed to gasp out.

“Not through my wards! No one just walks through my wards!” And they both disappeared in a swirl of dark purple smoke, the wand crashing to the floor.

Rumple stood, his mouth agape. He knew _he knew_ the Lady had taken the man down to the dungeon. He went to the door and listened and thought that he might be hearing screaming. He went back into the kitchen and dumped out his cake-making effort, his heart suddenly not into the task. He waited, not sure what to do. The little dragon fluttered around him, reflecting his distress.

_He had seen the Lady furious a few times, such as when the Blue Fairy had trespassed. This was like that time . . . but more so. She had seemed out of control in her fury._

_Was this what the Lady had talked about, what the Hatter had talked about?_

_Was this The Dark One?_

It was early afternoon before the Lady reappeared. She was now attired in a leather apron that covered a plain tunic. Both were spattered with a red-brown liquid which he could only assume was blood. Her eyes were still darkened and the air around her crackled. “Food!” she commanded him and he quickly brought her a bowl of soup, bread and some stone fruit. He fixed her some tea but after a brief moment decided not to serve it to her in her usual preferred chipped cup. He poured it into a black mug and brought a tray out to the dining room.

She was fuming. “How dare he? How dare he try to steal from me?”

Rumple sat down next to her without saying anything.

“I still cannot figure out how he got inside. But he stole from me! No one is allowed to steal from me! He must be made an example.”

“He must have been desperate,” Rumple told her quietly.

“Then he could have asked for what he wanted,” she spit at him.

“Perhaps his situation was very desperate and he was afraid you would say no,” Rumple suggested.

“If it were not desperate before, it is certainly desperate now! I make deals!  He would have had something he could have used to pay!” she insisted.

She stood, the heavy furniture trembling, the dishes rattling on the table, the lights overhead flickering. “No one is allowed to steal from me. I am going to my tower. I will give him a few hours to think over what I shall do to him.” And she waved her hand over herself, leaving the stained clothing in a heap and re-attiring herself in a simple black tunic. She swept from the room.

Rumple sat quietly. _So this was the Dark One. Not very nice, not very nice at all._ He hesitated for only a moment. He didn’t question what he had to do but it did take him a moment to work up his courage. He went back into the kitchen and requested a torch. He found one in the Ever-Providing Drawer. Next to it was also a key _that he had not requested._ He took both items and, after hesitating only a moment, went to the door of the dungeon. He opened it, the dank stench of blood and death assailing him, the tang of dark magic permeating the air quickly putting the taste of acrid copper into his mouth. He stepped onto the staircase, the darkness cloying and quickly wrapping itself around him. The torch sprang to life, illuminating his way.

The staircase was a narrow wooden winding affair. The steps jutted away from the wall, oft with broken or rotting places on them. There was no railing and, while one side was the stone wall, the other side opened into oblivion. He had to hug the wall and go slowly so he didn’t make a misstep. The reek of the place grew even stronger as he went down the stairs. He struggled not to gag as waves of nausea rolled over him. As he descended he was increasingly convinced that he could hear someone moaning.

He reached the bottom and found himself in a place that resembled a pit more than a room. Suspended in the center of the room by chains which dropped down from nothing that he could see was The Thief. Rumple slipped and realized he’d stepped into a pool of blood. He shuddered but managed to find a stool to stand on and, using the key from the Drawer, he released the shackles that held the man by his wrists.

“Come on,” he told him, whispering _hoping the Lady wouldn’t hear him – not his whisper nor his heart pounding in his chest._

“Who are you?” the man managed to gasp out. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m Rumplestiltskin and I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do.”

“But how?” the man was leaning on him, struggling to walk.

“Come on now. We haven’t much time,” Rumple then began the arduous process of helping the injured man up the stairs. This proved to be a heart-stopping process and he was ever fearful that one or the other would go toppling down to the floor of the pit. Somehow after a maddeningly slow climb they made it to the door. He stopped and peered around. He pulled the other man through.

“Now go, go before she returns.”

“But,” the other man spoke up. “What will happen to you? She’ll know you were the one to help me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rumple assured the man _not at all confident that he would be fine._ “Just tell me, how you managed to get through her wards?”

The man removed a necklace that he’d had around his throat. “As I understand, it _bends_ the flow of magic and makes itself and the wearer invisible to the eyes of magic,” the man told him. “I wasn’t sure it would work. The Blue Fairy gave it to me.”

The man started for the door but stopped and managed to gather Rumple into a manly hug. “Thank you. If I can ever do you a favor, don’t hesitate. I’m Robin of Locksley.” The man then gave him a nod and left.

Rumple watched the man run across the open field to the relative safety of the forest. He wondered what the man had wanted that he was willing to risk everything for it. Rumple then looked around and saw blood on the floor and remembered the stained clothing. He picked up the clothing, taking it to the kitchen and returning to mop up the floor. He then returned to the kitchen and focused on cleaning the leather and linen, his hands shaking with emotion and trepidation.

It was much later in the afternoon when the Lady appeared before him in the sitting room. He had been spinning in an effort to sooth himself, anticipating the worst response possible. He had found himself repeating long forgotten prayers from childhood, those said at bedtime to protect oneself from ravening beasts and monsters.

The Lady stood before him without speaking. He ventured a glance at her and he knew without question that the Darkness had taken possession of her.  

“You’ve overstepped yourself Spinner,” she finally addressed him. “Interfering in my justice.”

“Here,” he got up and laid the charmed necklace on the table before her. “It bends magic. It was how the thief got in.”

She glanced at the necklace but returned her attention to Rumple. “You are here at my pleasure, under my tolerance. I have given you great freedom. I have honored my bargain.”

“And I have honored mine,” he told her solemnly, _all the while expecting to be incinerated._ “I couldn’t let the Darkness take you over and allow you to commit a cold-blooded murder.

“It is not yours to allow,” she was still furious. “No one steals from me.”

“And no one has,” he said still speaking calmly and quietly.

“He entered my Castle without permission, without my knowledge!”

“And now you know how he did it. You can fix it so it doesn’t happen again.” He somehow was managing to keep his voice flat and calm.

“It’s not that simple!” she shouted at him and suddenly he found himself overlooking a hill. The thief was tending a woman in an open carriage, a woman clearly in the throes of childbirth. The Lady stood by Rumple clutching a bow and arrow. _He realized that she had transported them both to this spot._

“You will watch. You will watch me kill him. This bow never misses,” the Lady told Rumple, hissing at him before turning her attention to the thief.

“He’s about to become a father! Would you allow a child to grow up without a father?” Rumple pleaded with her.

The Dark Lady didn’t flinch but aimed her bow at the thief who was now bending over the woman.

“Think about this. He obviously came looking for assistance for his wife,” Rumple told her. “If you won’t help him, at least, don’t kill him.”

The Dark Lady let the arrow fly and Rumple nearly closed his eyes, not wanting to watch her snuff the life out of the man who was brave enough to break into the Dark Castle.

To his astonishment the arrow hit a tree. He looked at the Lady who didn’t meet his gaze. The next thing he knew they were standing back in the sitting room of the Castle.

He just looked at her in astonishment. _She hadn’t killed the thief._

He found himself taking two steps toward her and enfolding her in his embrace, a small woman, a head shorter than himself. She fit nicely in his arms. “I knew you weren’t as dark as you were trying to be,” he murmured to her. “I knew there was some soul of goodness in there.”

She didn’t pull away from him but allowed him to hold her. They just stood a while before he became aware of their intimate positions and he slowly released her. He looked down into her eyes, now their usual cerulean blue.

“I’m very happy right now,” he told her. “I’m very proud of you for not turning into a monster, for being the good woman I know you to be.”

“I’m not happy or proud,” she pouted. “I’m supposed to be the harbinger of evil, portent of disaster, the presage of the end of days. You’ll have me burping rainbows and riding a unicorn before you’re finished with me.”

“I hope so,” and he smiled down at her. “Milady, I would like to kiss you.”

He waited. The Dark Lady was not meeting his eyes and was standing very still. Barely, barely perceptibly, she nodded.

He kissed her forehead.

Then he kissed her nose.

Then he kissed her mouth.


	6. With Warm Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle continue to move forward in their relationship. They entertain an unwelcome and unfriendly guest. They celebrate The Solstice.

They never did more than kiss, but they often found themselves kissing, usually after the evening meal right before retiring to their separate bedrooms for the night. It was a degree of intimacy that Rumple had never enjoyed with his wife. His wife had been tolerate of sex with him, managing to be quite clear about what she preferred, although uncaring as to his needs. And Milah clearly hadn’t enjoyed kissing with him, in fact she would sometimes shrink back from his efforts to touch her and hold her.  

But the Dark Lady seemed to enjoy being held by him and kissed by him. Sometimes they would end up just gazing into each others eyes. Rumple had become braver and had begun kissing not only her mouth, but kissing her cheeks, her neck and shoulders.

But she did not seem to want more from him. She would stop him if he put his hands on her waist or tried to kiss below her shoulders.

On her part, the Dark One was rethinking many things. She found herself enjoying her Spinner’s company and the stimulating physical sensations his light touches and his kisses _especially his kisses_ brought forth. She began to wonder if she was desiring more from him, more than just kissing.

And it was a strange feeling.

It was a frightening feeling.

She had thought the treatment she’d received from Zoso would forever prevent her from enjoying the touch of another, especially the touch of a man.   But perhaps, perhaps with this man . . . .

They were spending a quiet afternoon in the main sitting room downstairs in the Castle keep. She had looked up earlier in the afternoon to announce that they would likely be having a visitor. Rumple nodded, but it was apparent that no one was arriving in the immediate future. While the little dragon queen, whom they had named Kari, preened and sunned herself in a patch of sunlight, he went back to practicing his writing.

He was busy preparing his weekly missive to his family, letting them know he was well, alerting them to some of his activities and wishing them the best. They were never far from his mind and there was a permanently empty space in his heart that their absence had created. He had no way to get any reply from them so he did not know what they were thinking had happened to him. He consoled himself that because of his sacrifice the Lady had provided, indeed had more than provided, for their health and well-being.

He glanced up from his writing. The Lady was evidently bored. She had been drinking tea from her favorite chipped cup and, at the moment, she was pretending to spin at his wheel, twirling the wheel with one hand and, as he had seen her do before, turning out strands of silver and gold instead of woolen yarn.

The little dragon suddenly began to squeak and flap her wings. She was most agitated.

“Someone is coming,” the Dark Lady announced. “Be careful,” she warned Rumple. The little dragon flew up to the high rafters and hid.

The door burst open. A striking brunette in luxurious clothing, velvet and silks, with jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears, swept into the room. She wore a crown and to Rumple’s mind it was most apparent that she was a queen.

“You’re getting slack, Belle,” she announced. “It didn’t take any effort to get through your wards.”

“About five hours of no effort, Regina dearest,” the Dark Lady told her. “I finally took pity on you and took down the last couple of barriers.”

Regina sniffed.

“What brings you here?” The Dark Lady asked her.

Rumple remained silent, watching his mistress. This other woman was very powerful, even he could tell that. He kept still, not wanting to attract attention to himself. If he could have faded into the stone walls of the room, he would have.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Regina had replied offhandedly, strolling around the room as if quite disinterested.

“I think not. You only seek me out when you want something.”

The Queen pulled a face. “I’m still not getting my Curse to play out,” Regina complained.

“I’ve already given you hours of help. There’s nothing in this for me,” Belle turned away from her ‘guest.’

Regina pouted. “Perhaps I could owe you a favor . . . to be repaid at a later date,” she wheedled.

“For two people to make a deal, they each have to have something the other one wants. You have nothing I want,” The Dark Lady had turned all of her attention back to the spinning wheel.

Regina bit her lip and glanced around the room. She noted the chipped cup.  Then her eyes fell on Rumple. “Oh my. Is this your newest pet? I see you took Mal’s advice.”

“He’s the help,” his mistress told her watching Regina from the corner of her eye.

Regina ignored her and went over to Rumple, “Stand up,” she ordered him. He glanced at his mistress and then complied. He kept his eyes downcast.

Regina looked him over, obviously finding him lacking. “Too short, too narrow in the chest, perhaps a little mature for my tastes, but perhaps he makes up for that with experience. The leather pants suit him well. What say you Belle?” she asked.

“He helps with the roses and the horses. He fixes meals, runs a duster over the place and does the laundry,” his mistress explained, shrugging.

“Perhaps you would let me borrow him. Just to give you another opinion,” Regina had placed her hand under his chin to lift his face to hers.

Rumple steeled himself so as not to pull away. He thought it likely that his mistress would protect him but he did not want to bring the matter to a head. He did not like this woman or her patronizing, possessive manner. _In all his time with his mistress she had never made him feel like he was only a peasant, less than human, but this woman looked at him as if he were an insect or a worm, something she might amuse herself with and then discard._

“Leave him alone,” his mistress spoke sharply, standing up. “I think our business is done.”

“Oh, come on!” Regina sounded like a child. “I’ve come all this way and you’re just going to throw me out!”

“I don’t like guests, especially uninvited ones. I’m asking you to leave freely or I _shall_ throw you out.”

Regina released Rumple and stood a moment. Rumple could tell she was trying to get her temper under control. Her eyes had narrowed and she spared him one last appraising look before turning her attentions back at Belle. “I shall not forget this,” she promised the Dark Lady and she gathered her skirts around herself and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster.

Rumple found that he was trembling. The Dark Lady had sat down again. She sat quietly without so much as glancing at Rumple. She seemed more focused on her handwork, now a tangle of gold and silver threads, than on anything else. But there came a moment when she looked up and set aside the jumbled mass of finely spun metals. She came over to Rumple.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Milady?” he wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. _No, he wasn’t all right. He felt . . . dirty._

She took his chin much as Regina had, and held his face in place while she looked deep into his eyes. She finally took a breath and let him go. “Regina does not play nicely and often breaks her things. I wouldn’t want her to hurt you.”

“Milady is kind to be concerned,” he told her humbly.

“Well, it’s taken me awhile to find a servant as good as yourself. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

He dropped his eyes. _Is that all she thought about him – that he was a servant, a convenience? Did she care at all about him, as a person, as a man? He wasn’t sure. Was she fond of him? He wondered if the Dark Lady even had feelings. Had all the feelings of the princess been burned out of her by the Dark One. He was beginning to question if she had any compassion or any caring within her. He’d thought she had but sometimes, as in this moment, he wasn’t so sure._

“I do not like you to be afraid,” she told him. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him. He did not immediately kiss her back, feeling as if her concerns were little more than a reflection of her overweening acquisitiveness. _He was feeling used._

“You do not want me to kiss you?” she asked him. _This was different. He usually seemed to welcome, to enjoy her kisses. She had known that he would become aroused when kissing her. It had at first repelled her but she had become accustomed to his physical response and recognized that it reflected his appreciation of her attentions._

“Do you care for me, Milady, or am I just a pet, as the Queen said?” he asked her. “I mean do you really care about me more than any of your other things? You amuse yourself with me but do you care for me?”

“I do care,” she protested, then she altered her response. “As much as I can.” She stepped away from him, her face troubled and she struggled for words. “You are . . . important to me. I . . . I would be upset if something happened to you. I want you to be happy, Rumple,” she began and stopped. “I have nothing more to offer you. There is a wall around my heart and I cannot give you affection or love. Is it not enough that I enjoy your company, your kisses, your touch?”

“My touch, Milady? I have kissed you, but I have yet to touch you,” he couldn’t stop some bitterness from coming through.

He looked at her, small and vulnerable, delicate and fragile in appearance. She was incredibly beautiful and, although he knew in his heart that she was a Force of Darkness, she often seemed like a girl to him, a sweet innocent young woman. If he were still a village lad and she that girl, he might have wooed her, offered his hand in marriage to her. He cared for her more than he wanted to admit _and it made his heart ache to think that she might not be able to ever love him._

She was confused at his answer. She was shaking her head. “You touch me all the time,” she protested.

“I mean really touch you!” he told her, suddenly putting his hands on her arms. “Let me. I won’t hurt you. Let me touch you,” he said to her. And carefully, feeling a bit like a male spider wooing the female, knowing that she was capable of turning on him and snapping his neck, he slowly began to kiss her and gently began to use his hands to pull off her the shoulder straps of one her silken slips. She pulled back. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised her again. “Let me, let me touch you.”

She dropped her eyes and he felt her take a deep breathe. He gave her some time and she seemed to relax.

“You know I think you’re more beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever seen,” he reassured her. He threaded his fingers through her hair and then down to her face to cup her chin. “I won’t hurt you,” he slowly repeated one more time.

Moving with glacial speed, he pulled her down to the comfortable sofa that graced the room, all the while removing layer after layer of her clothing. She was left in her lacy undergarments and seemed uncomfortable. She shivered – _he knew from nervousness, not from cold --_ she used her hands to cover herself.

“No,” he told her grasping her hands and pulling them down. “Let me look at you, please. You know I think you’re beautiful.” He kissed her and leaning back he began to slip the last of the straps down from the final garment that covered her body. She was slowly revealed, her pert breasts with their hardened peaks, her flattened stomach. She still wore lacy panties unlike any he had ever encountered _certainly quite different from the coarse linen bloomers his wife had worn_. He marveled at the blue scales that covered her body. They were smaller and lighter in color on her breasts and stomach. He brushed his hand over her and she managed to lie still. He kissed her mouth, then her neck and gently laid his hand on one of her breasts. He realized she was breathing hard, not from passion but fear.

“Milady, what is your name?” he asked her. _He had learned it already from the Blue Fairy and from the Queen. But he wanted to hear it from her, he wanted her to tell him her name, to give him her name._

“Belle,” she told him. “I’m Belle.”

“Belle,” he called her by name. “I want to give you pleasure. I can give you pleasure.”

“Please Rumple. I . . . I’m scared,” she confessed.

 _He took a moment to grasp that this very powerful woman was afraid, afraid of him? afraid of what they were about to do?_ “Are you a virgin?” he asked her. _He didn’t think she was but he had to know._

“No, “she whispered. “But there was just one other.”

“He mistreated you? He hurt you?” Rumple asked, the suspicion he had long held surging forth in his mind.

There was no answer for a while. “Yes,” she finally told him in a barely heard whisper.

“And you have never known tenderness?”

“No,” she admitted briefly looking up and making glancing eye contact.

He stopped debating his next move. He knew what he should do. _She wasn’t ready for a real physical relationship. He needed to provide her with pleasure without . . . well without perhaps finding it for himself._ “Please Belle. I will stop if you ask me to. But I want to touch you in a way you have not experienced. I want to give you pleasure.”

She didn’t move for a moment _for a long moment_ but then reluctantly nodded.

He began again kissing her, using his lips and his tongue and slowly working his way down to her breasts. He marveled at the smoothness, the warmth of her skin. He ran his thumb over a nipple and was rewarded with a rapid pebbling.

“Nice,” he whispered. He leaned in and she gasped when he latched onto a nipple and suckled.

“Very nice,” he heard her answering breathless whisper. He allowed his hand to rest on her stomach above her lacy panties and, again, he felt her clench up.

“Shhh,” he whispered against her ear, kissing her ear lobe and then down her neck. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated his promise yet again.

He pulled back enough to see that she had closed her eyes and was breathing deeply, as if she was trying to sooth herself, calm herself.

“Good girl,” he murmured _a part of him wincing that he had called this all-powerful woman ‘girl.’_

He moved so that he was kneeling on the floor and his hand dropped so that now he was just approaching the top of the delicate juncture between her legs. He heard her whimper.

“You’re going to be all right,” he reassured her. “Here, put your hand on top of mine,” he directed her. “It’s just my hand. I’m not holding you down.” _What the all hell had happened to her?_ And slowly he felt her muscles soften as she began to relax. He shifted his hand just slightly.

And then he began to move his fingers, moving in tiny circles, using just the slightest of pressures.

“Look at me,” he told her and her blue eyes opened. The pupils were expanded, no longer the cat eye slits but not to the point the entire eye was blackened with the Dark energies.

She was aroused.

He kissed her again, kneeling up to focus on her neck and the tender sensitive point where her shoulder began. She shivered.

He had shifted his hand down ever so slightly and he could tell she was damp. He shifted a little more. No, she wasn’t damp, she was wet.

_For a brief moment, he was thankful to the harridan harpy that had been his former wife. As much as she had complained about his inadequacies, she had taught him precisely the places a man needed to attend to so as to provide a lady a good time. He drew on that bit of information and earnestly addressed himself to Lady Belle’s delicate female parts._

He was gratified when there was a sharp intact of air. “Oh my!” she gasped. He continued with his attentions, his gentle massaging, his sure stimulation. He watched and she shifted, opening her legs just a bit more, lifting her body just a little bit.

“Relax, Milady. Just enjoy yourself. I’m not going to do anything else,” he promised her. He had not removed her panties, hoping it would help her, prevent her from freezing and ordering him to stop. _As much as he wanted to slip a finger into her, to bury himself in her, he would not. Given her abrupt resistance to any sudden moves on his part, he firmly believed that there was something traumatizing in her past._

_Besides she could melt him if he irritated her._

He took his time, allowing her to move as she needed to, to follow his fingers, to re-position herself. All the while his own cock had lengthened and hardened so that it was uncomfortable in his tight leather pants. As he knelt on the floor by the sofa, his own movements were causing him to rub himself, providing unintentional stimulation. But he wanted to hold off on his own pleasure -- he had to hold off his own pleasure. He recognized that what was happening now was most difficult for her, that she was overcoming some very real limitations, some real barriers. He was intent on watching her face and the movements of her body and using these to guide his actions. She would alternately mew, purr and whimper as he continued his efforts, and he felt good knowing that she was definitely responding. She rolled slightly, burying her head in his shirt, her hand grasping the fabric, holding onto him.

“Rumple!” she suddenly cried out and her body stiffened and then she began to tremble. Feeling her come undone by his fingers was too much for him and he groaned as he spilled himself into his breeches.

Her eyes blinked open. “What? That was . . . Thank you,” she said, struggling to speak sensibly. She was soft and warm and he gathered her into his arms, kissing her face.  “Oh, you’re wet,” she said suddenly noticing.

Embarrassed he kissed her nose. “I was so caught up in you reaching your pleasure that I . . . I lost a little control. I’m very sorry,” he told her.

“Oh,” she said with sudden understanding. “Rumple, Rumple. Please,” and she laid her hand on his cheek. “I need a moment.” And she lifted herself up to kiss him . . . “You’ve done nothing wrong,” and then she was gone.

He sat on the sofa a moment and then felt a swirl of magic, cleaning and drying his pants. He looked up and smiled, “Thank you.”

\+ + + +

Belle was confused.

The Spinner had been supposed to help around the Castle doing the mundane chores and, from time to time, he was to provide her with company when she was so inclined.

_When had he become more than that? She had allowed him to touch her, really touch her and she had experienced something she had never known. She had been afraid there were no feelings left inside but now . . . but now she was afraid there was too much, too many feelings for her to manage._

_He did matter to her. She did care for him. He had power over her and his power over her was growing._

_The Dark Voices of her Curse were howling at her – he was gaining control over her – she should shackle him, put him in chains, use him, use him up and then discard him._

_He was dangerous._

_She had allowed him to dissuade her from taking revenge. He had praised her work with the village folks. He had told her how beautiful he thought she was._

_This couldn’t go on._

\+ + + + +

Things became tense between them. She flinched if he came too close so he was careful not to startle her, not to get too close. She seemed almost shy around him and he was less sure of his place with her. He dare not make a second attempt at romancing her. He realized the next move, if there was ever a next move, would have to be up to her.

He was willing to wait.

\+ + + + +

There were other visitors from time to time. A Dragon Lady that called down their little lizard queen to her came to see them. The Dark Lady took the Dragon Lady up to the North Tower and they chatted.

Another time a mean lady with black and white hair came. She barely gave Rumple a glance and he made sure to stay out of her way.

The Hatter continued to often dropped by, seeming to enjoy Rumple’s company as much as the jobs the Lady would assign to him. They continued to talk, the Hatter’s sharp eyes taking in much about their relationship.

“She seems nervous around you,” he told Rumple one afternoon. “I’ve never seen her nervous.”

“She’s not nervous,” Rumple quickly disagreed with his friend.

“You’re nervous too,” the Hatter said sitting down across from him.

“I’m not!” Rumple again spoke quickly.

“Agree or disagree, it won’t change that you’re both walking on pins and needles around each other. I can cut the tension between you two with a knife. Something’s happened. Not quite sure, things have changed but things seem . . . unresolved. Did you have a fight or something?”

_Rumple had to acknowledge to himself that the Hatter was a keen judge of character and behavior._

“We’re kissing but nothing else but . . . “ he began to confess but stopped himself.

“Oh, not a fight then. Things are leading toward . . .” the Hatter hesitated, searching for the right word, “consummation?” he finally asked.

Rumple stood. “I . . .I’ve fallen in love with her, Hatter. But . . .” he shook his head.

The Hatter sat quietly. “I’m so sorry. I’ve known her a long time and I can tell you that she does care for you. In her own way, she cares very much for you,” he finally said. “It is hard. Love is hard. I loved a woman once.”

“But you lost her?” Rumple asked him. “You were blessed. Your love was returned. For me, it’s not that she doesn’t love me, it’s that she _cannot_ love me.”

The Hatter sat back, sipping his beer. “Are you so sure? Are we really so sure of that?”

“She’s under some the spell of some dark magic.”

The Hatter smiled. “But love, True Love, can break any spell. If you have True Love, anything is possible.”

Rumple considered this.   He had heard this but . . .

_Did they have True Love?_

\+ + + + +    

Despite the tension and despite the occasional visitors, most of their time was spent in simple activities. Rumple was a man who had spent much of his life living out of doors in a calm routine, often caring for his sheep, at other times, if he was not spinning, he was gardening, growing food for his family. In his new position in the Dark Castle, he was still out of doors for part of the day, tending to the horses, working in the kitchen garden and, less often, tending to the rose bushes. He had noticed the days getting shorter and shorter and had begun to mark where the sun was coming up on a fence rail and where it was going down on one of the castle’s crenels. He sensed that it was likely nearly Solstice but couldn’t be sure as to which day was going to be the sacred holiday.

He did begin to decorate the main hall and their sitting room with holly and evergreen branches. Rummaging in one of the back rooms, he was able to obtain some white, red, and black ribbons to add to the decorations. His mistress had watched his activities with some amusement.

“Why are you placing dead plants around my hall?” she finally asked him.

“For the Solstice, Milady,” he answered promptly. “I’m not sure what day it will actually be, but I thought having some seasonal decorations would be pleasant.” He caught her puzzled look. “If you would prefer that I not decorate, please tell me. I will remove them instantly.”

“No . . . no,” The Dark Lady was thoughtful. “I had just forgotten about the trappings that go with the Solstice. It is an important date for some types of magics. I will check my recordings and will tell you when it is.”

“Thank you, Milady,” he told her. He began to consider if he should prepare a feast for them. She was not always regular with her eating habits so he could conceivably labor for hours only to have her absent.

His chest tightened. This would be the first Solstice he had ever spent away from his son. He had knitted scarves for his Aunt Marjorie and his son using some of the yarn he’d made from black roving that had appeared in his basket. He’d used this rare yarn with the usual cream-colored yarn to make a pattern in the scarf. He would need to ask the Lady if he could have these things delivered to his family.

It was later that evening when the Lady confirmed for him. “It will be tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I . . . I have been wondering if it might be possible to get these presents to my family?” He held up the scarves. These items were large and he was hesitant to ask to send large items with the little dove.

She looked at him for a while and nodded. “I think so. Let me see them.” And she again called down the white dove that seemed to live invisibly in the rafters. And again she shrunk both items down very small. She whispered something to the dove and the bird flew off.

“Thank you. They’ll have them on Solstice morning then,” he said. “Milady, I would serve a special meal tomorrow if you would join me?” he asked her tentatively.

“That would be lovely,” she told him and smiled, both of them enjoying the mitigation of tensions between them, even if it were for only a moment.

“I do not know the customs of Avonleigh for this holiday, but in my village we would give presents to those who were special to us,” he told her hesitantly.

She looked at him, her cat-like eyes focused steadily on him. She said nothing.

“I . . . I . . . have been presumptuous enough to have made you . . . this,” and he handed her a small package that he had wrapped in the burlap that some of the grain would appear in. It was the traditional wrapping material that his people used.

She looked at the package for a moment.

“You can open it now, since it is Solstice Eve or, if you prefer, wait until morning and open it then.” He was getting concerned. She only sat and looked at the package.

Slowly she unfastened the ribbon that he had used to tie the package and the burlap fell open. She picked up the soft item that had been concealed. It was an exquisite finely knitted lacy scarf made of the finest spun rabbit hair. He had managed to work into some of the lace work some of the fine strands of gold that she had idly spun.

She looked at it for a long moment, running her fingers over the delicate pattern.

“Milady?” he asked nervously.

“It is beautiful,” and she looked up at him. He was stunned to see tears running down her face. “I have never been given such a beautiful gift,” she told him. She stood and wrapped it around herself. “I have . . . something . . . .” She got up and left the room for a moment. Rumple waited, concerned and anxious. When she returned she wordlessly handed him a small wooden box.

He opened it and found a charmed-sized irregularly shaped piece of porcelain. It had been outlined in silver and mounted on a chain. “I . . . I wasn’t expecting anything,” he told her honestly. “This is very nice.” He held it up to look at it, clearly puzzled as to what it was.

“It’s magic. I made it from the cup you chipped your first day here when you were so nervous.”

“The chipped cup you drink from,” he realized what the charm was now – the missing piece.

She shrugged. “It reminds me of the Before Time.” She brightened up, “Should we ever be separated and you want me to come to you, you can clasp your hand around it and call my name. If I can, I will come to you.”

He found that his own eyes were wet and he wiped them. “Thank you,” he told her. He put it over his head. When he looked at her, he saw that she was looking at the floor.

“I actually didn’t make this for the Solstice,” she confessed. “I had made it and I’d been meaning to give it to you for some time but I just hadn’t found the right time. Things are somehow different between us and I . . . I wasn’t sure if you would . . . accept anything from me.”

“It’s all right,” he told her and, after a moment of mutual indecision, the two stepped towards each other. He wrapped his arms around her and she brought her arms up to his shoulders. Their kiss soft and tenuous at first, rapidly heated up reflecting now the distilled energies of their brief abstinence. Her head fell back on his arm, her sweet body leaned into his as the kiss deepened. “It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever been given,” he managed to murmur.

“I’ve missed this,” she told him. “I’ve missed you holding me. I . . . I like you holding me.”

“I like . . . holding you too,” he replied. _He knew that he loved her, the good woman and the dark evil entity both but couldn’t bring himself to tell her._

They slowly pulled apart, awkwardness again steeping into their motions. The Dark Lady nodded and then turned and left him. She seemed embarrassed at her display of emotion. He smiled. This was turning into one of the most memorable Solstices he’d ever experienced. He cleaned up and took himself to bed. He would get up early and prepare a special meal for them.

In the morning there was a duck in the larder and he prepped it for roasting, using the same procedures he had learned when cooking chicken. He also picked out some sweet potatoes and split some sprouts and began to roast these. He managed a stuffing with day old bread and some herbs.    

Despite the sorrow wrapped around his heart, missing his family, wondering about his changing relationship with the Lady, he did feel that there was some happiness to be had in the Solstice. It was, after all, celebrating the birth of a new year.


	7. Therefore to be Wooed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumple share some dark history (note warning tags for this story). They continue to get closer. Belle makes a deal and has a realization. Rumple makes a discovery.

The Solstice had passed. The tension between them had begun to dissipate and their lives had continued but now things were on a different level, a warmer level. They still often kissed and spent more and more time together. She often complimented him -- for the improvements in his reading, in his cooking, in the state of the stables, in the growth of the kitchen garden. She seemed . . . kinder, warmer, more human-like to his mind. He would sometimes catch brief glimpses of a young woman when she spoke to him, a young woman, not a witch or demon.

“Tell me of your wife,” she asked him one evening. There had been yet another snow of the season. The obdurate black castle gleamed in sharp contrast to the sparkling white blanket that covered the land. The snow soothed the hard edges of the grounds that had been left by the frenetic winds of the fall. The Dark Lady and her servant were dressed warmly with fur-lined cloaks, hats and gloves and were leaning against the fence that enclosed the horses. The three horses were frolicking in the snow running back and forth in their enclosure.

“She was very beautiful and I thought myself the luckiest man in the village when she accepted my suit.”

“You were happy?” the Dark Lady asked him.

“I think we were . . . at first. Then I was called away to fight in The War . . . I never quite knew why we were fighting although I heard we were battling ogres. They don’t share that type of information with peasants. I was fortunate, I guess. They judged me too slight to manage a weapon so I was assigned to an officer, to help him with his horse, keep his tent clean, do his laundry, fetch his food, that type of thing. I could do those types of things as you well know,” he said with a smile. “I don’t know that I would have been very good at fighting,” Rumple confessed.

He continued, “The officer I was assigned to was no better, no worse than any of the others. I don’t know that he knew why we were fighting. He told me one night that he had thought war would be glorious and exciting but he was finding it dirty and dull.

“One night, there was a surprise attack. The enemy came roaring into our camp. They came in on large fell beasts that I did not recognize. I was knocked down . . . and . . . I was knocked out. The next memory I have is coming to in a burning field. My ankle had been injured but I began to look for other survivors.” He paused a moment. “There was much smoke and fire. I kept tripping over . . . things . . . bodies . . . parts of bodies. Most had been trampled but many also had saber wounds."  He stopped a moment, reliving the painful experience, choking up as the memories welled up.  "Some of the men had bite marks, I guess from the beasts the enemy rode upon. Some . . . most were men I knew, men I had been friends with. I . . . looked a long time, but could find no one alive . . .” his voice broke. He was surprised when she laid her hand on his arm . . . as if to comfort him.

“I began to walk back the way we had come out. I had bound up my ankle as best I could. I knew I needed to see a physician . . . but there was no one. I walked for three days, drinking water out of ditches, eating roots and leaves. I finally made it back to the main camp.” Rumple stared out for a long time without saying anything more.

“But they thought you had deserted. They didn’t believe that you had just happened to survive,” the Dark Lady surmised.

“Yes ma’am. I guess they wondered how an illiterate, untrained peasant could have survived a massacre that killed their best officers, their best fighting men. They assumed that I must have run away as the enemy came in. There was even talk that I was the one who had betrayed our soldiers. I could give no evidence to the contrary and soon enough I was dishonorably discharged and had to limp home. I was branded a coward, possibly a traitor. When I got home, my wife . . . she was not glad to see me. She left soon after, leaving our infant son to me to raise.

“The war had taken so much from our country. My village had suffered, although perhaps no more than any other village. There were few men to go around but I was not even welcomed to help. I did my best to provide but being crippled and without a helpmate . . . it was hard. My son was five when my Aunt Marjorie, one of the two women who had raised me after my father had abandoned me, came to live with us. She was . . . very welcomed, very helpful. I had more to provide for but I now had more time to do so. I was able to plant a bigger garden and had more time to spin.”

“So why were you on the road . . . when you sought refuge here?” she asked him.

“I had to take my wares, my yarn, to sell in a bigger market. Even if the women of my village would have had the money to buy from me, they would not have. So I had begun to explore other places. The market at Milledgeville was the biggest and furthest away I had ever been and . . . I was successful there.”

“Yes, I remember. You offered me your purse,” the Dark Lady nodded.

“Milady,” he hesitated, quite conscious of her power, her position. “May I ask? How did you come to live here?”

There was a long pause and he had a moment of panic. Was she angry at him for presuming familiarity, for thinking he had any right to ask?

“I remember . . . “ she began. “My father’s kingdom was being attacked by monsters, ogres they were said to be. There was no help from our allies. They refused to send armies. They refused to even send advisors or food or medicine or anything for our people. There was no help from the Fae. The Blue Fairy had simply refused to answer our call. I never knew if she didn’t have magic that would work against our enemies or if we just were not worthy in her eyes. Our sorcerers had no spells. Our clerics had no prayers. Finally, in the depths of desperation, my father called upon The Dark One. He came, a slimy creature, more like a frog with large bulbous eyes and clammy hands. He kept a stench about him, the odors of rotting flesh and backed-up sewage. He agreed to help us . . . for a price.”

Rumple closed his eyes in sympathy. “And you were his price,” he whispered, now confirming his suspicions of what likely had happened. He understood that great magic, such as ridding of kingdom of an ogre invasion would require a very high price.

“Yes, I agreed to sacrifice myself to save my people. I went with him . . . willingly.”

“Milady, I am sorry if I have brought up something painful,” he began. He was concerned. Her face had become impassive, her voice tone flattened. Her gaze was fixed on the air in front of her. She reminded him of other men and women who had managed to live through the most harrowing circumstances – when they talked about what had happened to them, they would disconnect, as if they were telling about something they had seen happen to someone else, someone distant.

It was as if he had not spoken. “He brought me to this place. It was somehow darker, smaller than it is now. There were no roses. There was no bathing chamber. He pushed me to the floor in the great hall and held me down. He lifted up my skirts and petticoats and he . . . . he took my maidenhood. There was blood and pain. I cried. I remember crying.” She took a deep breath. “He took a vial and saved some of the blood. It was valuable to him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rumple told her and without thinking it through, he drew her to himself and hugged her. She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. He kept forgetting how slight she was, how delicate, how she barely came to his shoulder. She was shaking and he thought she might be crying.

“He brutalized me, Rumple. He would keep me in the dungeon room off the kitchen and oft I had no food, no water, no protection from the cold. He would often visit me, to force his attentions on me. He had me drink a potion so that I would not conceive a child by him. He would beat me if I did not please him and sometimes, I think, for his own amusement.”

“My brave girl, so brave to have survived,” he muttered, saddened and horrified to hear of her experiences. He stroked her hair still holding her close.

“In time, he would let me out of the dungeon and have me do simple tasks for him. I knew little enough how to do such things for I had been raised as a princess. I knew nothing of cooking or laundering or even simple cleaning. I often would burn food or ruin clothing and he would berate me and punish me for my lapses. Over time, I did get better and he allowed me more freedom to move about the castle, but not to leave the grounds. I think he thought I would die or fling myself from one of the towers but I . . . stayed. I was determined to survive. I began to learn more about the Dark One and . . . eventually, I discovered something . . . and I was able to kill the beast but . . . by doing so, I took the Dark Curse onto myself.” She pulled away from him for a moment, gazing up into his eyes.

He saw there were tears in her eyes. “Milady,” he said, gently, gently placing his lips onto hers. Realizing what he had done, he pulled back.

“Before you came, I was so full of hate.” She smiled at him. “But you have been so kind, so gentle, so clean,” and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back. “Rumple?” There was a question in her voice. “I don’t want you to feel that you have to . . . “ She raised her hand to touch him on the cheek.

He put his hands on the sides of her face. “I made the choice to stay with you,” and he kissed her again, gently, his lips barely grazing hers. “I find you beautiful,” and he kissed her once more. “If . . . if you will have me . . . I would be honored.”

The Dark Lady looked at him, tears streaking down her face.

_Maybe this man would cleanse her, remove the taint, the stain . . . the memories. The Darkness had buried these feelings, these memories but now the thoughts were back, the dark ugly thoughts._

Rumple felt things begin to swirl and they were abruptly up in his lady’s chambers. He realized that she had used magic to transport them. She pulled away from him and dropped her cloak, hat and gloves. He did the same.

“You have often said that you found me beautiful,” she said slowly pulling on the straps of her silver dress and all the thin undergarments underneath.

“You are, Milady, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She dropped her dress along with her lacy petticoats and they landed in a frothy puddle around her feet. Awestruck and humbled, Rumple sank to his knees before her and leaned forward to place a kiss on one of her toes. He did not stop, placing a kiss on her ankle and then the inside of her knee. She leaned down and raised him up so that he stood in front of her. She pulled his shirt up over his head. He ducked his head.

“I’m . . . I hope I do not disappoint, Milady,” he whispered to her. She guided him over to the bed.

“We shall help each other, I think,” she told him and undid the button on his waistband, loosening them up so that the pants fell down around his ankles. He stepped out of them and sat on the bed next to her.

She traced down his torso and up his arm with her blackened nail.   He had gained weight since coming into her service and his overly thin frame had filled out. The work with the horses had built up muscle and, although he was still slender, there was now a man’s strength in his arms. She found his compact form appealing _– not the soft, bulbous mass The Other had been_.  

Carefully, slowly, he ran his fingers up her arm to her shoulder and then to her neck, leaning in to kiss her. He felt her shiver and felt a surge of satisfaction. He knew he could please this woman, satisfy her. Sitting next to her on the bed, he felt her lips on his chest, kissing, licking, using her tongue to explore the taste and texture of his skin, her small hands with her long nailed fingers splayed and touching him. He ran his fingers through her silken ebony hair and then pulled her down with him onto the bed. He rolled her so that he lay partially on top of her, one of his legs over hers. He lifted himself up so that he could look down on her. For all that her skin was tinged blue with a silvery sheen from the tiny scales that covered her body, she was very lovely to his eyes, so feminine, so desirable.

She seemed almost shy with him, turning away. “Milady,” he whispered. “I would not hurt you. I wish only to bring you pleasure. You must tell me if you wish me to stop.” He kissed her and continued, “if you want me to continue,” and he kissed her again. “Or if you want me to go faster . . . or slower. . . “

The Dark Lady giggled. “I like you touching me. You are . . . desirable to me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He laid a hand on her breast, marveling at its softness. It was a paler blue than her arms which intrigued him. He leaned in so that he could suckle at her nipple. She did not flinch back from him or clench her stomach muscles. She did give out the smallest moan. “That’s so nice,” she told him and he felt her fingers in his hair.

He lent his mouth to the other breast and was rewarded with her squirming beneath him. With his hand he played with the other breast, teasing the nipple with his fingers then gently massaging the soft, sensitive flesh. She made little mewing sounds of pleasure and, emboldened, he dropped a hand to her stomach. She clenched up. He stopped and kept his hand still, returning his mouth to her breasts, using his lips, his tongue, kissing, suckling, pulling. She relaxed and again he dropped his hand this time to brush against her soft curls.

“Milady, I would taste you,” he told her.

“I . . . I . . . I’ve never . . .” her pupils had dilated but this time he was not sure if it was fear or desire.

“Then I will be your first,” he told her quietly and slid down, kissing his way along her body, down her stomach, down her abdomen, down. He pulled her legs apart and settled himself, holding onto her slender thighs. He kissed and licked first on the inside of her thighs and stopped her from wriggling away from him. He stilled his own movements, allowing her to adjust to the new position. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised and began to kiss his way to her center. He used a hand to brush her and she flinched. He brushed his fingers against her, finding moisture and then rubbed his fingers gently upon her, parting her nether lips. When he touched his tongue to her, she yelped.

“Did I hurt you?” he immediately asked.

“No, no,” she told him breathlessly. “I just wasn’t expecting . . . “

“All right. I’m going to kiss you again,” he told her and this time she stayed still. He heard her sigh as he continued to use his lips and his tongue, tasting her distinctive delicious flavor. He spent some time just licking her, all the while using his fingers to rub all around her most sensitive nub. He felt it harden and could see it jutting out her moistened folds. He touched her with his tongue and she cried out. He felt her fingers in his hair, pulling him towards her and he obliged, this moment no longer licking and kissing but gently, gently sucking her into his mouth.

She screamed his name as her body convulsed and he was flooded with her essence. He continued tugging and pressing on her until he felt the shivers subside and then he pulled himself up her body.

“Please, Belle. Are you ready?’ he asked her. “May I . . .?”

“Please,” he heard her and her hands went to his shoulders. “Please, I want to feel you. I _need_ to feel you inside of me,” she told him. He rolled himself onto his back and pulled her on top of himself allowing her to control their joining. She took a moment to position herself and as she pushed down, he surged up into her. They both stopped for a moment adjusting, accepting each other. The Lady caught her breath and he reached up to hold her face in both hands, gazing up into her darkened eyes.

“Bring your legs up,” he directed her and she trembled but complied, placing herself so that she was kneeling over him. He began to rock into her, pulling away and pushing himself back up. She was snug but very wet and he had never felt such perfection. She answered his movements and they quickly found a satisfying sweet rhythm. They were made for each other.

He kissed her again all the while thrusting himself into her, moving faster and harder. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders and he heard her scream his name yet again and then the walls of her passage contracted around him.   He barely held on for a moment before he was overcome with his own release and felt himself pulsing his life stream into her. She collapsed onto him and he vaguely felt her hands clasping him to her.

It took him a moment before he had the strength to open his eyes. She was smiling at him.

“That was wonderful,” she told him. “Stay with me, please.”

He didn’t feel he could go anywhere if he had wanted to. He was as relaxed and as satisfied as he had ever been. He wrapped his arms around her and as she uncurled her legs he gently rolled her to one side. She snuggled up against him. Together, their arms around each other, they fell asleep.

The morning light filtered into the top tower room. Rumple stirred and there was a moment of disorientation.

“Where. . .“ and he remembered. He was in bed with his Belle, Milady, the Dark Lady. He had . . . they had made love to each other. He remembered.

He thought it had gone well. He remembered tasting her and burying himself in her. It had been glorious.

He looked down and her eyes were opened, the cat-eyes now in slender slits. She smiled at him.

“If I had known how talented a lover you were, I would have invited you to my bed so many weeks ago,” she told him. “You are wasted in my kitchen, I think.”

“Not wasted, Milady,” he told her. “My time in your kitchen, in your sitting room . . . I think we learned to care for each other. And when you care for the other person, things in the bedroom are much better.”

She considered. “When did you get so wise?” she asked. “Perhaps you are right. I was never inclined to take a man into my bed before getting to know you. For a very long time I was repelled by the idea of intimacy.”

“After what you suffered at the hands of the previous Dark One . . .” he began, but she was shaking her head.

“The Darkness made it possible for me to put aside the pain and grief I suffered from being The Others victim.” She tried to explain, “The Dark Curse that is upon me makes it difficult for me to have feelings, any feelings.  There is only darkness and cold inside me. But since you came, I feel some lightness of spirit and the warmth of the sun is no longer unpleasant to me. You are changing me Spinner Rumple.”

“Am I?”

She gave him the sweetest of smiles.

Things _had_ changed between them.

There were certainly those things that had remained the same. He continued working in the kitchen, the garden and with the horses. He continued keeping the main tower clean and tidy and with the laundry and the cooking. The Lady continued her own work in the Dark Tower, continued to go on occasional errands that would take her away for a day or several days. They worked together on his reading and he would try to teach her how to spin – wool, not golden thread.

But at night, he would share her bed and they would take turns delighting each other.

\+ + + + +

Belle was out again, her magics having detected excessive activity from the fairies _which was always a cause of alarm for her_. She had tracked down and had decided to confront Blue within the holdings of King George. Blue was up to her usual mischief, interfering in a match between the King’s son, Prince James and the daughter of King Midas.

“I am curious, why do you care about these people?” Belle had stepped from the shadows to talk to Blue alone. The two women stood in one of the castle’s council rooms complete with a large dark wood table, heavy chairs with plush cushions and a single door, ornate and inlaid with golden filigree. The room was royally appointed, as suited a petty functionary like King George who thought of himself as much more important than he was.

Blue had startled. She had not sensed the presence of the Dark One _and that was most alarming in itself. And now she had to deal with the Cursed One._ “That damn Curse you created, that Regina will cast to take us all to a Land Without Magic, I want to be sure there is a way to break it,” Blue had told her warily.

“Do you think I created a curse that could not be broken?” Belle asked silkily. “You think highly of my skills. Surely you know that all curses can be broken either through Time or through Love.”

“Why did you create it in the first place?” Blue asked getting between the Dark Lady and the door.

“ _I_ didn’t. Remember I am but a single entity in a long line of Dark Ones. One of my successors, one who was angry with you began work on it. Each of us have added to it over time.” Belle yawned as sat down in one of the large wooden chairs that surrounded the meeting table. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that there has yet to be a curse so dark, so devastating that someone is not willing to cast it, to use it against everyone. But I am curious as to how you intend to get your little loophole inserted into the Curse.”

Blue slouched just a little, just a bit. “I don’t know. I haven’t precisely worked that part out. I guess I’m just hoping that it will be powerful enough to work without being incorporated into the fabric of the Curse,” she confessed.

“Pretty sloppy,” Belle told her.

Blue suddenly perked up. “You don’t want this Curse either!” she suddenly realized. She stepped towards Belle. “I know we don’t, we can’t, trust each other, but perhaps on this one issue. . . could we work together?”

“You want me to . . . “

“Would you insert it into the Curse? You’re the only one Regina is likely to let close to the scroll. You could do it. You could save us all,” Blue spoke earnestly.

Belle considered. “There is still a problem.”

“Yes,” Blue admitted. “The loophole would work best if we could somehow imbue it with True Love, but no one has ever been able to contain, to grasp True Love. It’s so rare, so special, so . . .”

“It can be done,” Belle cut her off.

“How?” Blue asked.

Belle had to smile. “Interesting that the Dark One knows of a way to bottle True Love but the Light Fairy does not.” She stood. “Get me a hair from each of your lovers. I can do it with these.” She turned to go, “Oh yes, there is a price for my help.”

Blue frowned, “Of course, of course. The Dark One does nothing without charging for it.”

“In this new land, if ever I ask you for something, if I say ‘please,’ you will grant my request.”

Blue considered. “We are all to lose our memories if this Curse is ever cast, you know.”

Belle looked at her. “I know, so it will make no difference, will it?”

Blue nodded. “It’s a deal.”

\+ + + + +

And now, Dark Lady Belle would sometimes invite her servant, her lover Rumple up to her Dark Tower, each time using her nail to cut herself and then pressing her blood against the door to open it. Here, in the Dark Tower, he would be able to view his family, watch his son grow. The village seemed to be prospering. When he questioned if she had a hand in the village’s recovery, she would shrug. He would sometimes glimpse other people, soldiers dressed in the Dark Queen’s livery, but these men seemed to be friendly and well-liked by the villagers.

Here, in the Tower, she would also show him some of her magic. She explained that she drew on dark forces, fear, hate, suspicion, turbulence and confusion.   She would sometimes have him try but he wasn’t able to cause a flicker of change.

“Ah, you draw on light forces,” she suddenly realized. “Love, friendship, peace and harmony.”

He drew back. “Oh, I could never do magic, Milady, any kind of magic.”

“Of course you can. You already do. You just don’t recognize it as such. And even the most untalented, can do potions and plant magic. If your village had a midwife, she would most likely have drawn on such magics,” she explained.

“The healing magics? That could be useful,” he admitted to her.

“I can teach you some of that,” she told him. “There is much on such magic in some of my books. I will help you as I can.”

So now Rumple embarked on applying his new reading skills to peruse her books looking for healing potions. He already knew the names of many of the plants in her herb garden but there were some discussed in her books that he did not know. There were also some plants that only grew wild, refusing to domesticate in well-manicured little herb gardens. Sometimes the Lady would bring back unusual plants that he would study and oft times try to cultivate, oft times successfully. He found he could coax most plants into thriving in what had once been a shabby excuse of a kitchen garden.

It was a warm afternoon. He was on his knees working with one of the wilder plants when he noticed its nose. He stilled and waited. Very slowly, very slowly a soft grey head followed the nose.

It was a young rabbit.

Moving cautiously, he held out a leaf to the rabbit. The young bunny, more hungry than careful, hopped forward and began to eat from his hand. Rumple pulled his hand back and the bunny followed. It time the rabbit had crawled into his lap, allowing itself to be held, petted and fed.

“You have Slow Magic.”

Both he and the young bunny startled, the kit bolting off his lap. He turned to look at the Lady. “Milady?”

“I had wondered before but I see it now. It is very, very rare and one of the strongest of magics,” she told him.

“What is it? I don’t understand. I have no magic,” Rumple was confused.

She shook her head. “You, like so many others, think of magic as sudden and flashy, there and done,” she explained. “But not all magic is like that. One of the most powerful magics is Slow Magic. The growth of plants, the wearing away of stone by water, the changing of a village into a town. Slow Magic. Most wielders of Slow Magic never know they have it. They can change the rate that tasks are accomplished, speeding up some things. I have never seen it before but watching you tame the little rabbit . . . “

“But that only took a moment and it was a young and stupid rabbit,” he protested.

“You have been here for more than an hour. Did you not know?” she asked him and he shook his head. “You shifted a task that would take others weeks into that time. You are very powerful Spinner.”

“But what good is it?” he asked.

“Ah, like those who use Earth Magic, you can make crops thrive. Like those who use Air Magic, you can alter weather. Like those who use Water Magic, you can change the very landscape. Like those who use Fire Magic, you can conjure passion.” While she told him all this, he shook his head.

“Then why, why was my village so impoverished? Shouldn’t I have been able to improve our lot there?”

She looked at him and slowly smiled. “But Rumple, you did. You did all that. Sometimes with Slow Magic, the path to change is tortuous and difficult to follow.”

He remained sitting in the soil of his garden. He had always thought that things just happened.

He was beginning to realize that they happen for a reason.

And sometimes, he now understood, he was the reason.

\+ + + + + +

It was a late summer day. Rumple was helping the Lady clean her North Tower Room.

It was actually a dangerous job.

Very dangerous.

No telling if things might explode, sending him reeling across the room or dropping to the floor in slumber. Other things would just poof and he would find himself drooling or retching or turning green or sneezing uncontrollably. Occasionally some things would freeze him in place or cause him pain or tickle him or . . . well, there was just no predicting.

She was focused on moving some of the books back to the library and had left the room with a stack of volumes that had somehow worked their way up to the Tower. She had been gone awhile and he smiled to himself. Likely she had opened one of the books and, as if she had encountered an old friend, she was probably down in the library re-reading a forgotten favorite. He was alone when he found . . . IT.

It was a plain box, set on a high shelf. He was standing on a short step-stool pulling things off the shelves when he pulled the box down. He blew the dust off the box and opened it. Inside was an oddly shaped doubled-edged knife with a wavy blade. The blade was emblazoned with the name “Belle.”

He picked it up.

He heard her behind him. She was watching warily, tenseness in every muscle.

“What is this?” he asked her holding it up.


	8. More Precious Dear Than Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple has The Dagger in his possession, which brings him and Belle to new insights in their relationship. Belle makes some important decisions. Rumple goes to visit his family.

He’d picked up the odd-shaped dagger emblazoned with the name _Belle_.  

“What is this?” he turned to ask her.

“It is the Cursed Dagger,” she whispered her answer.

“Cursed?” he nearly dropped it at this point, but instead questioned. “What does it do?”

“It controls me,” she told him.

“What?” he was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“It controls me,” she repeated.

“You mean . . . if I have this and I tell you to do something, you will obey?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He stood a moment, horrified. _And now, now, he understood why some Dark Ones were free entities and others suffered under the control of a mortal._ “But . . . . but I don’t want to . . . I don’t want to control you. I don’t want to control anyone.” He was still holding onto The Dagger. “Milady, I . . . I don’t think it’s right to . . . to control another person.”

He looked at her and stepped back. Her pupils had expanded and blackness filled the space for her eyes. Magic radiated from her slight form, power and grief wafting across the room, making him tremble. “I am afraid of you,” he told her.

“You should be,” she whispered to him.

“But I . . . I want things to go back the way they were. If I put the knife down . . . “

“I will kill you,” she told him.

“Because I know your secret,” he surmised. He floundered. “If . . .if . . . if I ask you, could you prepare a potion to take away my memory of this and could you put The Dagger somewhere else, where I won’t find it?”

“I could,” she told him, but she still looked terrifying to him.

“I would have you do that. I don’t want to know about this Dagger. I don’t want to ever be tempted by it. I don’t want anyone to find out anything about it from me.” He licked his lips nervously feeling that he was facing down the most dangerous thing he had ever, he would ever, encounter. “Milady, give me a memory potion that will take away these memories. Then take this . . . _thing_ away and hide it from me.”

She nodded and went over to her work table. In a moment she returned with a small bottle containing a thick yellow liquid. She gave him the potion. He then nodded to her, laid the knife in the box and simultaneously drank the potion, closing his eyes.

When he opened them, he felt dizzy and confused. “Milady?” he called out. _She had been in the Library._

“Yes Rumple,” she answered him appearing behind him.

“I . . . I . . . I seem to be confused. Did I get into another powder or potion or something?” he asked her.

“You did, darling,” she told him kindly.

“Milady,” he wavered, nearly falling down. “I . . . I believe I . . . I am suffering from after effects. I may need to lie down.”

“Of course,” she kissed him lightly and stood still while he managed the walk outside of the tower room and down the stairs.

She remained.  

As soon as she gave him the memory potion, she had transported The Dagger to her vault. It could only be entered with her magic and she, and only she, was ever allowed in there.

She was trembling. _She had almost killed him._ He had stood there with her Dagger and all she could think about was killing him. She had wanted to flay the skin off his body. She had wanted to slowly boil the flesh off of him. She had wanted to bury him alive so she could watch him suffocate. She had wanted to hang him up and drain the blood from his body. She had wanted to pull his heart from his body and crush it.

But this was a man she cared about. She couldn’t love him. The Dark Curse prevented her from loving anyone or anything except her own survival. But she cared about him.

She really did.

And she had wanted to kill him.

She conjured some rare Goblin Fire Water and downed it. The Dark One did not get drunk, could not get drunk, but the Fire Water was closest in getting the job done for one such as her.

But she so needed to do something else to help her numb herself. She was shaking and near to tears, something most unusual for a Dark One.

She searched all the memories that were available to her. No one, NO ONE had ever walked away from The Dagger. Many had been tricked out of it – perhaps their first wish had been to go somewhere exotic and the Dark One would oblige them by transporting them, but not The Dagger, to their requested location. Of course there had been those that had immediately killed the reigning Dark One to take on the power themselves and those that had been content to simply command the Dark One.

But no one had ever walked away from The Dagger

Not until Rumplestiltskin.

It was very late when she came to him. He had lain down on his own bed and virtually passed out. She had slipped into the bed next to him. Guilelessly, he had reached for her and pulled her over to his warm body.   He had kissed her in his sleep, nuzzling against her neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he had murmured. “I love you Belle,” he had told her more asleep than awake. “I want . . . I want to touch you,” he had told her and pulling at her clothing, he had been successful in removing her frail bits of underthings and had rolled on top of her, taking her with assurance and confidence.

She lay next to him, still sticky between her thighs, her body still flush with her own eager response to his attentions. _This was the first time he’d initiated sex with her, the first time he’d taken her without humbly asking permission._

_It was also the first time he’d told her that he loved her._

She was still trembling as she lay next to him.

_What was she going to do?_

\+ + + + + +

“You are truly gifted, Rumple. Your hands have magic.”

It had been long months since Rumple had unwittingly found The Dagger and had his memory erased. Long months since he had sleepily confessed his love for her. She had tried to continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

They were outside. It was very early in the morning, before breakfast in early spring. He was nurturing several of the little plants into health and vigorous growth. He was kneeling in the herb garden which had grown easily four times over from the small bedraggled kitchen garden patch he had encountered when he had first arrived. There were not only culinary herbs, but medicinal ones that he had studied and learned about in his Lady’s books and dye plants that he used for the wool roving he would spin. There was one corner for flax which he could harvest, thresh, rett, break, and heckle and then spin over the course of a year. The garden was now a tidy affair with brick pathways.

Flying over his head, was Kari, the little dragonet that had followed the Dark Lady home, no longer a little dragonet, she was a full-grown dragon lizard, about the size of large, well-fed house cat. Her skin glowed red with a golden shimmer, her eyes were like emerald crystals and she would breathe fire when angry or upset. She was quite intelligent, appearing to understand many words and well able to follow simple directions. She seemed enamored of Rumple and would often trail after him. The Dark Lady thought it most likely that she favored him because he would often feed her between meal treats.

“Milady,” he startled. Rumple had not heard her come up behind him. He stood, brushing his hands off. He was dressed in sturdy dark linen pants and a clean white pullover shirt with close fitting leather boots. He wore a serviceable leather vest complete with pockets that held small tools. He had tied his hair back.

“These plants, you do well to make them grow so,” she complimented him.

“I just give them good soil and water and the leavings from our kitchen.”

She looked at him. She wondered if he knew that he had been at her castle for seven years now. He had not aged, having been protected from the winds of time by her magics. He had been her bed companion for six of those years. She thought he looked much better than the scraggly, scrawny figure that had first burst through her door.

_She thought him handsome. He had a gentle nature, a caring nature that touched her. She wasn’t quite sure of when it had happened, but she had come to truly care for him, as if a chink in the dark shielding of her Curse had been created by his tender touch. He was special to her, not like Regina would become fond of her bedmates -- as if they were some kind of sentient pet, but special to her as a person._

_And he loved her – that counted for something, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it counted for, but she knew it counted for something._

_He’d never repeated that he loved her and she doubted that he even realized that he had said it to her. But he had said it. And somehow, she knew it was true._

“Would you like to go and visit your family? Not just write to them? Not just look at them through the viewing bowl?” she asked him suddenly. _She wasn’t quite sure why she'd made this offer. She wanted him to know she trusted him. She wanted him to know. . . what? that she cared about him?_

“Milady?” He turned towards her. “Really? You would be comfortable with me going back to my village?” _Long ago he’d had the idea of asking the Lady if he could bring his son and his aunt to live in Potsdam but watching how comfortable they had become in his old village he had never followed through. For him to get to go and visit them was another dream he’d had, and this one was about to come true._

“If you wish,” she said dropping her eyes.

He considered. “It would be hard to see them now . . . for them to see me . . .”

“I understand,” the Lady told him. “I can make it so they do not recognize you. You could be an old lady, or a young man or whatever you want to be.”

“Perhaps if I were an older man, a bit bigger. It would be safer to travel if I looked like I was a proficient warrior.”

“You wouldn’t have to travel far,” she told him. “I could arrange to place you down close to your village,” she waved her hands as she would when she was performing certain feats of magic.

“That would be nice,” he told her. “How would I let you know I was ready to come home?”

“Ah. You already have just the thing. You wear it around your neck but you have never used it,” she told him. He always wore it and to hear her speak of it, he brought his hand up to the charmed chip of porcelain. “If you put your hand on it and speak, I will hear you.”

He looked down at it, “Like this, Milady?” And he grasped the amulet, the one that she had given him at Solstice so long ago, in his hand and quietly said, “Milady.” The silver around it glowed and the Lady laughed.

“Exactly like that.” She spoke softly. “Do you want to go right away?”

“I guess. I shan’t be gone long. I just want to lay eyes on them and see for myself. Perhaps just a few hours, not more than a day. I could be back for supper if I leave now.”

The lady stood before him now clothed in another one of her silk dresses and, not for the first time, she seemed small to him. Yet somehow before, he hadn’t felt as if he might need to be the one to protect her, not before this moment.

“You will return?” she asked him in a small voice.

“Of course. I promised you forever. Do you think I would leave you with only an empty heart and a chipped cup to remember me by?” And, impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead. _He so wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he dare not. She was so far above him._ Abruptly he shifted, pulling her to him and began kissing her on the mouth, a deeply passionate kiss that took her breath away, that caused her to lean on him for support, that ended with her arms around his shoulders. “If I don’t return, it would only be because I have been prevented from doing so,” he whispered to her.

Belle stepped back from him, closed her eyes and waved her hands, transporting him through her wards and back to his home village, setting him on the road. She then stood quietly, already missing the man. She returned to her tower and sat down at her work table. She got up, an unexpected restlessness seizing her.

She had a job to do, a deal that she needed to honor. She pulled out a clear potion and separated it into two bottles. She opened a small case which contained two hairs, hairs that she had gotten from the Blue Fairy. She dropped these into one of the two bottles. She held the bottle up to the light and smiled when the hairs dissolved and the potion turned a rich glowing pink. She hesitated, starting and stopping several times before picking up the second potion bottle. She put it back on the table. She got up and walked away from the table.

She was frightened. What if this potion turned pink also? What if it didn’t?

_Oh it was all too silly. Why had she ever thought of doing such a thing?_

Finally she sat back down at the table and pulled a hair from her own head. She then carefully lifted up a single brown hair from a silk handkerchief she had been holding in one of her pockets and dropped the two into the potion. She held her breath and then watched in wonder as this potion too turned a rich glowing pink bursting with tiny silver sparks and sprinkles.

She sat back.

True Love.

It shouldn’t be possible, but the evidence was right before her eyes.

True Love.

She sat back down and then, after only a moment, stood again.

_There must be something wrong with her brew. True Love occurred, at most, once a generation, if that. For there to be a second couple with True Love was almost unheard of. For the Dark One to have a True Love was unthinkable._

She sat staring at the bright pink potion that swirled and glowed in the bottle.

It was beautiful.

If was terrifying.

She went down to her Vault and went to one of her locked cabinets, one that was protected with physical and magical wards. In it were her most desirable, most expensive, most precious relics. She took out a blue potion, one with golden swirls lighting it up from within. She set this potion on the table before herself and debated.

_This was a potion worth a king’s ransom. With much difficulty in obtaining the ingredients, she had been able to brew but a single batch a very long time ago. This was the last remaining portion of that brewing. The other portions had been sold, all but two, for vast amounts, to royal families desirous of an heir. One of the two remaining doses she had given away to a couple she had just felt was deserving. The last dose sat before her._

_It was a fertility potion, one that would counteract the poison that Zoso had forced her to drink long ago. She had kept a dose back for herself should there ever be such a time that she might want to conceive a child.   It had never failed to work. She sat a long time looking at it._

_Then, Belle opened it and drank._

\+ + + + + +

Rumple found himself in a forest standing in the middle of a road. He looked around and saw a distinctive rock formation. This was the Idles Rock, familiar to his village, a landmark in the region. He was near his village. He turned and began to walk toward his old home. It was early morning and there was no one else in the road. He knew the first house he could come to would be the healer’s house, an older woman who served the village with herbs and potions. He found it as he’d expected to, a neat cottage with a trim thatched roof and an overgrown garden of plants. He could not stop himself glancing at the plants, pleased that he recognized what was growing there, what the plants were and what they could be used for. He passed by the house.

Then, if all was well, there would be a series of smaller homes, intermittently occupied by those who worked the farmlands. These were often used as temporary housing for itinerant field workers and were not regularly cared for. The houses showed the signs of disinterest and neglect.

Then there would be the crofters, those who had their own land to tend to. Their homes were better kept, but still quite small. They often had small vegetable gardens on the side. Those houses too were quiet but showed the signs of current habitation. Rumple heard a cowbell and looked up to see an unfamiliar young man driving the village cows out to the commons. There they would occupy their time eating grass and enjoying the company of other cows before returning to their owners for milking and the night. He nodded at the boy driving the cows; the boy gaped at him but didn’t seem unfriendly.

Now the next group of houses were closer together, although not necessarily larger. This was the area of his own people, the crafters, those who would spin or weave, those who worked metal or built carts, and the many others that worked with their hands. Farther in were bakers and butchers and grocers. Beyond that would be the village tavern, the church and the local government houses.

As he walked along he had another older man, clearly a soldier, come in from a side road and catch up to him. The man had the appearance of long military experience but yet had retained a kindly attitude.

“Soldier,” the older man greeted him. “You’re not one of mine. Just passing through, I take it?”

Rumple had prepared for this. “Not a soldier, sir, a sailor. Passing through on my way to Arendale, up far north. Been down on the coast working the seaways.”

“Ah, a naval man,” the older man said. “You have made it far from home.”

“Yes, and I’m glad to be going back. I thought it would be quicker to walk across the Frontlands but now I’m not so sure if I would have done better sailing ‘round the horn.”

“That’s a difficult choice for sure,” the older man told him. “I’m Colonel Nishay, of the Queen’s guards."

“Auric Shepherd,” Rumple replied, already prepared with a name.

“Join me for breakfast. I’m going to see the Lady Marjorie. She’s one of the crafters, a spinner that lives nearby. We have a pleasant morning ritual – I just happen to drop by and she insists on me staying for breakfast.”

Rumple managed to stammer, “Oh . . . oh . . . sir, I would not want to impose my company. I was going to see if I could find an inn or a local church and get something there.”

Nishay made a face. “The inn’s food is oft refused by the pigs and the church serves only shoe leather and burnt vegetable scraps. The Lady Marjorie will give you a meal that will keep you on the road.”

Rumple found he could not refuse. This was a perfect opportunity to connect with his family. _He was also most curious about what might be happening between this colonel and his lady aunt._

They stopped outside of ‘his’ home, a modest stone structure. He saw the house looked in good repair, the roof recently re-thatched with a deep well-dressed ridge pattern. There was ivy growing up the stone walls. There was a fenced area, the pickets whitewashed, housing a neat, small garden complete with vegetables and common flowers in the front and, he knew, there were pens in the back for sheep and goats. Those animals also would have been taken out to a different grazing area from the cows in the morning. This morning he first saw that there were a few chickens pecking through the garden. _That was new._ His heart nearly stopped as he spied his Aunt Marjorie outside in the garden. She was gathering a few herbs. She looked up when she heard them approaching and her eyes lit up. But she wasn’t looking at Rumple.

“Colonel Nishay! How good of you to drop by. Would you consider coming in, have a little breakfast?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I would love to, Lady Marjorie. And I’m bringing in a friend, a traveler on the road, passing through our little village, Auric Shepherd.”

“Master Shepherd,” she greeted him warmly.

“Ma’am,” he replied.

“Please, you must join us for breakfast. I get tired of just the conversation from this old soldier,” Marjorie told him with a smile on her face.

Rumple was confused. In the old days, they barely had enough food for the three of them. But now, Lady Marjorie was offering to feed two adult males without the least trace of concern. Things certainly seemed to have changed for the better since he’d last lived here. Rumple followed Nishay and Marjorie into what had once been his home and took a seat.

Rumple looked around the room. It was as he remembered -- a simple one room cottage with a hearth along one wall that was used for heating and cooking. The floors were clean planks, an improvement from the pounded clay he had walked on when he’d lived here. There were plain woolen rugs scattered about on the floor. They were sitting at a roughhewn table with three stools. There were garden flowers set on the table. In one corner, near one of the two windows in the cottage was a spinning wheel with baskets, some with roving and some with spun wool. In a far corner was a plain cot, with neat blankets lying on it. There was a ladder that led, he knew, to a second loft sleeping area.

It seemed so much smaller than when he had lived here.

Marjorie dished out some oatmeal that had some of last season’s dried grapes in it. She also put some sheep’s yogurt in the center of the table which the Colonel added freely to his oatmeal.

“Would you like tea?” Marjorie asked him.

“That would be fine,” Rumple told her. She prepared three cups of leaves and poured hot water over them while he watched. “This is a prosperous village,” he added, as if he were only a traveler passing through.

“It is now,” she agreed and brought the tea to the table.

“But it hasn’t always been?” he asked her.

Marjorie and the Colonel looked at each other. She answered, “No. We were once among the poorest of the poor. Truth be told, I would never have been able to offer you a real breakfast had you come by some years ago. But, the Queen decided to establish a small garrison here and for the first time, there was real coin circulating in the village. We got a school so our children could learn to cipher and to read. Our craftsmen now have buyers for their wares and they, in turn, have money to spend on other craftsmen.”

“Sounds like your town was lucky,” he managed to say, “to have had the garrison placed here.”

_So it was the Queen’s troops that had been stationed in the area and their presence had stimulated the economic revival. He had to smile. It was likely intentional on Milady’s part to have used the other woman’s resources on the behalf of his village; it was part of the odd sense of humor she sometimes exhibited._

“Perhaps. It was an abrupt, unexpected occurrence,” agreed Marjorie.

“It was,” concurred the Colonel. “We had thought that we would be going into Milledgeville, so coming all the way out here was a surprise. But it’s one that has worked out well for everyone.”

Rumple ate some of the breakfast before venturing his next question. “You live here by yourself?” he asked his aunt, hoping, assuming he knew the answer.

“With my grandnephew,” Marjorie told him. “He’s a bright, helpful boy. He’s out doing his chores. He’ll be off to school for a couple of hours and then back to help.”

“Her grandnephew is a remarkable boy,” the Colonel told Rumple. “He’s the brightest in his class and shows much promise with the sword. With the Lady Marjorie’s permission, I have petitioned for him to transfer to the Knight’s School in the capital. I’ve written one of my old mentors and told him of the boy’s talents. He’s been accepted and Bae is very excited about going. He’ll head out at the end of summer. I may be going with him.”

“Don’t you have to be sixteen to go off to Knight’s School?” Rumple asked, confused. Bae was what? only eleven, twelve at the most?

“He’s about to turn sixteen,” Marjorie told him.

Rumple was stunned. He’d been away seven years! He didn’t remember seven winters passing. The time behind him seemed foggy and indistinct. He knew his son had grown; he could tell that from the pictures he would see in the viewing bowl, but seven years! He had an additional thought.

“But with him leaving to go, won’t that will leave Madame Marjorie here alone?” Rumple spoke up.

The Colonel smiled and Marjorie actually blushed. The two reached across the table and held hands. The Colonel spoke up, “I have spoken my troth to the lady and we shall be married before the end of summer. I will be retiring from my commission and am leaving it to her if she wants us to remain here in this lovely village or find a place in the city to be near her nephew. I’ve assured her that my pension will be more than enough to support the three of us. However, if she should want to ply her trade, for a craftswoman of her skills, I can promise her that there will be plenty of opportunities in the city. And here, there will be plenty of buyers interested in this fine little house and the herds. The neighbors in particular are eyeing the place. They have a grown son who wants to move out and be on his own – with the idea of having a place to bring in a bride.”

“May I ask, are you thinking of selling out and moving to the city?” Rumple knew he sounded overly familiar but he wanted to know what Marjorie was thinking of. _She was blushing and ducking her head like a sixteen-year-old girl. His instincts told him that the Colonel was a decent man and he was happy, very happy for the two._

“The Colonel has suggested we visit the city so I can get a feel for the place. I have lived all my life in small villages and I don’t know if I could feel at home in such a place,” confessed Marjorie. “I have grown very comfortable here and there’s always the chance that my nephew. . . “

She got quiet and Rumple looked from the Colonel to Marjorie and back again.

Colonel Nishay somberly told Rumple of the fate of Marjorie’s nephew, “The Lady Marjorie’s nephew was taken prisoner by The Dark Lady. He communicates with her and assures her all is well, but he’s not been seen since he left seven years ago.”

“The Dark Lady?” Rumple repeated.

“Surely, even a sailor from Arendale has heard of The Dark Lady? A powerful witch who lives deep in the Enchanted Forest?” Nishay asked him. “She practices the vilest magic and lures unwary and desperate travelers into her lair.”

“He was a good man,” Marjorie told him. “A very hard worker and a kind soul. I’ve often wondered if he didn’t make some kind of bargain with her – his soul for the prosperity of myself and his son.”

Rumple said nothing. Marjorie’s guess was quite canny. “I. . . I . . . I’m sure he misses you two . . . wherever he is.”

“I know he does,” Marjorie told him.

The door opened and a handsome lad came in. His cheeks were flushed with his early morning exertions. Rumple gaped at how much his son had grown in the time he’d been away. Seeing him in the flesh was far different than seeing him in the viewing bowl. Bae was now taller than he was. He had Milah’s coloring and her dark hair, but Bae’s eyes -- Rumple fancied he saw his own eyes in his son's.

“I’ve finished up in the garden, fed the chickens and swept the . . . “ the lad stopped when he saw Rumple and the Colonel.

“Hello Bae,” the Colonel greeted the child warmly.

“Bae,” Rumple nodded to the young man who looked at him closely.

“Morning sirs,” Bae finally replied. He gathered up his books and gave his Aunt Marjorie a kiss on the cheek. “I’m off to school. Will we do some more sword practice this afternoon sir?” he asked the Colonel.

“Let’s plan on it,” the Colonel told him and the three adults watched the young man leave out.

“That boy will be a Captain in the Queen’s Guard before he’s twenty,” Nishay told them.

“This meal has been excellent,” Rumple told Marjorie. “I would leave you a small token payment. Put it toward the boy. I’m sure he’s growing out of his clothes as fast as you can spin them.” He laid a single gold coin on the table and had stood and was preparing to put his pack on. “I’ll let myself out if you please.” As he started out, he stopped. “I have heard the tales of this Dark Lady. I would suspect that if your nephew is indebted to her and she is allowing him to communicate with you, then they likely have some goodness in the relationship. I would guess, if she is as powerful as I hear, that should you move, your nephew will be well aware of it.”

“I had wondered if that might be true. There’s this romantic part of me that hopes there may be something special in my nephew’s relationship with the Dark Lady,” Marjorie told him.

“Perhaps. But what could there ever be between a peasant like your nephew and a powerful sorceress?” he asked.

“I would hope they wouldn’t let a difference in power get in their way. Love, love is the only important thing,” she told him.

“Lady Marjorie is a true romantic, as you can see,” Nishay told him indulgently.

“I am and proud of it,” she agreed laughing. “Now, thank you for the coin. It wasn’t necessary, but I shall accept it on behalf of the boy.”

Rumple bowed to both as he left. He looked back at his old cottage. It was in much better repair than when he had lived there. He had not possessed the skills, the time nor the coinage to repair it when he’d lived there.

The Lady had been as good as her word. She had not only provided for his aunt and his son, but had given to the whole village. His heart was full of gladness for what she had done. He walked through the village and saw a number of improvements. There were flowers, there were smiles, the roads were in good condition, the buildings in good repair. It was still small, but it was now clearly a thriving village.

Rumple was amazed as to how well the village was doing. People were well fed, had jobs and money, peace and contentment. His aunt, who had lived her life sacrificing herself for others, had likely found a man of her own, someone to love and who would love her. His son, freed from the stigma of being the child of the village coward, had blossomed, both with his school work and with his fighting skills. His son had a bright future. Rumple realized that the Lady had done better for his family than he had ever asked for. He owed her much.

There was not only what she had given to his family and his village, but there was all that she had given to him. She had taught him to read and even some basic magic skills. She had recognized an odd sort of powerful magic within him, magic he felt he had yet to harness and use purposefully. The Lady had fed him, clothed him. She had given her body to him and he had experienced bliss in her bed.

He had no doubts about it. Rumple knew that he was in love with the woman _he'd always thought of her a woman and not a creature or monster_. He wondered how ridiculous he was being to have these feelings. He wondered if he should tell her. He wondered if there was any chance that she might have similar feelings for him.

He was outside of the village when he heard a carriage.


	9. One May Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple encounters difficulties returning to the Dark One. In turn, Belle looks for him in vain.

Rumple was outside of his village when he heard the carriage. He stepped aside for the vehicle to pass, his years of living as a humble peasant guiding his actions. The carriage was shiny ebony black with elaborate gilt inlays. The horses pulling the carriage were fearsome dark animals with long, glossy manes and tails. There was an entourage of soldiers dressed in elegant black livery riding both in front and behind the carriage.

The carriage stopped as it came level with him. A woman leaned out of the window. He glanced up, recognizing her.

The Queen.

“Ah, Belle’s little kitchen helper. All alone on the road.”

He didn’t know what to say. _Had the disguise worn off? How could she know it was him?_

Regina opened the door of the carriage and stepped out, dressed as always in rich, sumptuous clothing. “Oh, don’t be surprised that I can see through her little glamour and recognize you.” She came towards him.

He felt frozen in place. He didn’t like or trust this woman. He knew that she was an enemy of his Lady. _What did she want?_

“Now this is interesting,” she put her hand with its long blood-red nails on his amulet.

He instinctively jerked away but it was too late. Regina snapped her fingers and two of her men, large burly men, grabbed him on each side holding him still, while she snatched the amulet off his neck. She looked at the amulet.

“This is a very clever bit of magic. How does it work?”

When he didn’t reply, she slapped him across the face. “How does it work?”

He still didn’t reply bracing himself for another slap or punch or whatever she might deal out.

“Pah, it doesn’t matter! I get closer and closer to casting my curse and none of this magic will work anymore.” She turned away from him. “Bind him and bring him along,” she directed her guards.

\+ + + + +    

The Dark Lady Belle stood quietly in her chambers sipping tea from her chipped cup. It was by now late afternoon and she had hoped to hear from her Spinner, had hoped to hear him calling on her to bring him back.

But all had been quiet.

Perhaps, he’d found a wonderful welcome in his old village and was having an excellent time and was loathe to leave to come back to the life of drudgery to which she had confined him. Perhaps, he had fallen in with brigands and they had hurt him, perhaps robbed him. taking the little amulet. Perhaps he’d gotten roaring drunk and had passed out in some alley. Perhaps . . . perhaps some trollop had caught his eye and he was lying abed with the little whore.

She kept imagining different scenarios of why her Spinner had not _called_ on her. In her thoughts she vacillated between him having run away . . . to him being injured . . . to him being an irresponsible lay-about. She discussed each option with Kari. The little dragon alternately cooed or spit flames.

As evening drew on, Belle debated on scrying for her Spinner but she was reluctant to intrude on his privacy. _What if he had encountered an old paramour, someone he cared about, and was having a private moment._ Kari snorted when she had shared this thought, disbelief reflected in the little dragon’s eyes and demeanor.

“If I haven’t heard from him in the morning, I shall scry for him then,” she finally told the dragon and retired to their bed, hugging the pillow he used to her body, relishing the warm, spicy scent of the man . . . missing him. The dragonet settled in on a corner of the bed, using one delicate wing to cover herself.

When there was nothing the next morning, Belle began scrying.

She found no trace of the man.

\+ + + + +

Rumple woke in a dark place. It was cold, a damp cold that went into his bones.   He felt around for there was no light. He found some rags and straw strewn across the floor. He piled these up in one corner to make a semblance of a bed and to get under for warmth but to little avail. He stayed chilled. The only noise would be squeals and scurrying sounds that he realized came from the few rats that made their home in the cave. They would occasionally run across his cell and he drew back from them.  

_He also sensed Something Else. It lurked in the darkest corners of his prison, watching him, savoring him, as if It had tasted him and wanted more._

Without light, without sound, he had no sense of the passage of time. When he did sleep, he had no way to determine how long he had been asleep. When he was awake, he had nothing to occupy his hands and after a while his mind began to grow numb. His time swung from periods of drowsy, painful cold to hungry, painful cold.

A guard would occasionally come by to check on him and sometimes he was thrown scraps of food, food that had been scraped from the plates of others or were scraps from fixings in the kitchen. He had nearly gagged at first but hunger was a forceful reason.  Soon enough he was grateful for what he could glean foraging in the darkness from the floor of his cell. The only water dripped from the walls of the cave and he would have to lap it up with his tongue as it trickled down. A fastidious man, he designated a single corner of the cave for his necessary body functions.

He had no idea how long he had been kept prisoner. There were lucid moments, when, bereft of company, of sound, of sight, he was able to think back on his life. His happiest moments he realized had been those he had spent with his infant son and those he had spent with The Lady. Happy times had been few and far between.

He also thought of the sad times. There had been many of them.

There were many times he would simply curl into a ball and tears would seep from his eyes. Milady would surely think that he had abandoned her, running away at this first opportunity. His heart ached that she might think that he had left her. He fervently hoped she had not wreaked havoc on his village, on his family.

\+ + + + +

Belle walked the empty halls of her castle. She was acutely aware that she was terribly lonely. She had not realized how much she had come to depend on the man’s quiet company. He was pleasant and gentle, always giving her a willing ear, a helping hand, a kind smile. It wasn’t the chores he performed around the place that endeared him to her; all of those could easily be accomplished with her magic. It was his person, his self, his calming essence that she missed.

Not finding him had been traumatic. He was either dead or hidden away by some extremely powerful magic force – _what was more powerful than herself?_   

She decided to go and look for him. She considered her best option for a disguise _for going as the Dark One would likely not yield the most cooperative responses from people._ Not a young girl – too vulnerable. Same for an old woman. How about an Icenick warrior?

Icenicks were the people of the Far North renown for their fighting skills and their fierceness in battle – both the women and the men. Belle changed her wardrobe, putting the light-weight shielding typical for the tribe on her legs and arms, adding the chain mail vest to protect her torso. She put on black gloves, black boots, and a black head covering. including a veil to hide her face– all consistent with the fearsome Icenick appearance. Then there were the weapons, a sword on her side, knives slipped into sheaths in different places on her body, a pouch for lethal throwing stars. She allowed herself a brief glimpse into a mirror to ascertain that she appeared as she wished _never forgetting that Regina constantly watched mirrors to monitor her enemies._

Belle turned to Kari. “Little one, would you like to help me on this quest?” she asked the dragonet who immediately perked up.

“What do you think?” she asked her. “A wolf? No? Too much like a dog to suit you, I see. Well then, a hyena, perhaps?”

Kari considered and nodded. And Belle transformed the little dragon into a large-sized red-colored hyena.

“Excellent,” Belle pronounced. “We make a frightening couple.”

And then she transported them to the Idles Rock. It was mid-morning when they began their walk into the Spinner’s village. Belle had many times been out in the world since her transformation to the Dark One and she had seen many villages. This one was doing well and she had to congratulate herself on her efforts to fulfill the bargain she had made with her Spinner long ago _ready amusement that the improvements had been made at Regina’s expense_. The houses were in good repair, there were flowers growing in the gardens alongside vegetables – always a good sign of prosperity. People drew back nervously from her but no one ran away.

She had to reach out with her senses to identify the path her Spinner had taken. She came to a well-maintained cottage and saw an older woman out tending the vegetable patch. She recognized her from his previous scrying – this was his Aunt Marjorie.

The woman looked up. “Sister Warrior,” she greeted Belle with the traditional greeting and Belle nodded. “May I offer you refreshment?”

Belle thought it odd, since most folk took pains to avoid the Icenick. But this woman was clear-eyed and kind. Belle nodded and followed her into the cottage. It was clean and pleasant, with flowers in vases scattered around and beautiful woven items, products of superior workmanship -- a table cloth, pillows, rugs, bedclothes, curtains and such all throughout the place.

“Most would not offer,” Belle told the woman.

“I am not most, Sister Warrior. And I must in good faith to my own beliefs offer a stranger at least a drink,” Marjorie told her while she was preparing some type of fruited drink for her.

“You are kind.”

“Well, I might never know when I will be traveling on the road and need a friendly handout,” Marjorie replied.

Belle decided she liked this woman. She had befriended the Spinner when things were very dark for him and for that alone, Belle would have liked her.  Now, meeting her in person, Belle saw that this was a genuinely kind person, one who tried to see the good in others. The Dark One howled and scoffed but Belle was able to quiet the Voices with a sharp inner reprimand.

“I’m looking for someone,” Belle told her. “We served together and I have some items that belong to him. I think I am but a short distance behind him.”

“Well, we don’t get many strangers through here.”

“This one was a sailor. His name is Auric Shepherd. He was returning to Arendale,” Belle told her.

Marjorie stood still. Belle could see that she was debating whether or not to believe that she was pursuing him for benign purposes. Marjorie finally spoke, “I have to see your eyes, Sister Warrior. Before I can tell you anything, I need to look into your eyes.”

It was Belle’s turn to hesitate, but then she made up her mind, “Lady Marjorie,” she called the other woman by name startling her. “You are correct to suspect that I am not what I seem.” She reached up to her neck and lifted off the head covering and removed the disguise she had woven about herself. She appeared in all her glory with her reptilian eyes, her blue, scaled skin, her silken black hair. “I am the Dark One. I believe the sailor I am looking for came by here a while ago. He is your nephew. He was – obviously, in disguise. He is bound to me and left me with my permission to visit with you and his son, his family. He should have called on me to retrieve him soon after his visit. I do not believe that he would break his agreement with me.   I am concerned for him.”

Marjorie stood with opened-mouth amazement at Belle’s confession. She would have dropped to her knees but Belle reached out and stopped her.

“I mean you no harm. Your nephew is . . . he is special to me.” She stopped a moment and then added, “As I am to him. I am most worried about him.”

Marjorie managed to get herself into a chair. “Madame,” she glanced up at Belle and then looked away. “The sailor you look for, my nephew you say, he was here. He certainly did not look like himself. He but stayed for breakfast and then left after a short visit. I thought there was something special about him and I wondered at the time . . . . He left a gold coin for . . . for his son.”

“Did he say anything . . .?” Belle was not sure what to ask. _Did he say anything about his plans, about her, about anything?_

“He said that he thought that my nephew and the Dark Lady likely had some goodness in their relationship. I guess it was the most he could say without revealing himself.” There were tears in the older woman’s eyes as she spoke. “You’ve been good to him.” Marjorie looked around as something else occurred to her. “And to us as well, I think. Thank you, Lady.”

Belle was touched. This was one of the very few people she had ever encountered that actually recognized what she had done for them and one of the very fewer who had thanked her for it. The Spinner certainly came from a remarkable family. She sat down at the table next to Marjorie. “Tell me, tell me if he said where he was going, what he was going to do.”

Marjorie shook her head. “He seemed very satisfied and just went off. He didn’t say anything.” Marjorie looked her in the eye. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think he was planning to go off into the wild.”

“He promised me forever,” Belle told her.

“Then if he promised you forever, he meant it. He would not have made a promise that he did not intend to keep,” Marjorie assured her. “If he did not return to you, then something prevented it.”

Belle sat quietly. This was what she had feared. He had told her as much before he left. Something had prevented the Spinner from returning to her. She stood.

“Thank you, Lady Marjorie. I will continue my search.” She prepared to leave but Marjorie did not let her go without one request.

“Please, Dark Lady, let us know if you find him. I will mourn him until I know he lives.”

“You can perhaps help me in my search. Do you have something of his?” Belle asked her. “Something old, something that was in his possession for a long time?”

Marjorie nodded and went into a back room, returning with an old scarf. “This was the first one that he made for himself. He was perhaps just seven years old. He had helped shear the sheep, prepared the wool himself, spun and wove it, all by himself. For a first piece it was remarkable and was an auspice of his talents. I had planned to pass it onto his son but somehow I never got around to doing so.”

Belle took the scarf and _called_ on one of her more useful potions, a locator spell. She knew that with a long possessed item, particularly one that the person had a special attachment to, that the locator spell would be more powerful than if she used it on something he had attained since coming to her castle. She poured the contents of the vial on the scarf and then released it. It flew up into the air and Belle spoke once more to Marjorie. “When I find him, I shall let you know.” She re-veiled herself and then she began to follow the scarf. It led her through the village clear through to the other side. They were still on the road. The scarf then wavered and went off to the side of the road. And there it wavered back and forth, back and forth.

Back and forth.

Belle surveyed the area, her heart in her throat. _Would she find his body, decomposing, perhaps lying, covered or even uncovered on the ground?_ She found nothing. No sign. Kari, in her hyena form, sniffed all around and Belle knew that she too was looking for signs that the Spinner was here.

But they found . . . nothing.

“Come Kari,” she called to the dragonet, changing them back into their true forms. She held out her arm and the little dragon landed on her. She took them both back to the Dark Castle in a swirl of blue smoke.

\+ + + + + +

Belle was still considering her next course of action. She knew it was most likely that her Spinner had been taken by some other powerful magical entity and she had hoped they would contact her, perhaps to gloat or ask for ransom.

The Hatter called on her. He made mention of the Spinner, noting his absence. He was just passing by and came to pay his respects.

“Where is your man?” he had asked her.

“He went to visit his family,” she’d told him, watching him closely.

“Sorry, I missed him. I like him Belle. He’s a good steadying influence on you,” the Hatter told her. “You’re treating him well, I think.” The Hatter had Insight and clearly Rumple had confided in him regarding his relationship with her.

“He’s missing, Hatter. I believe he was taken from me. If you . . .” she had difficulty finishing what she had intended to say.

“Oh, Belle,” the Hatter seemed genuinely concerned. “My guess would be Regina might have taken him. She would do it just to be mean, but I think also because she despises you and fears you. He could be used as leverage for one of her nefarious schemes.”

Belle nodded in agreement. “Then why does she not contact me to make her demands?” she asked.

“Not time yet,” the Hatter told her. “I will keep my eyes open and my ear to the ground Dark One. I’ll let you know if anything comes my way,” he promised.

Belle thanked him recognizing that this man was a real friend, if not to her then to her Spinner.

Then, it was Malificent who came by. She and the little dragon greeted each other enthusiastically, the dragonet flying around her, evidently thrilled to see the shapeshifter. “I’m worried about Regina,” Malificent told Belle once she had settled into a chair. “She is more and more obsessed with this ridiculous Curse of hers.”

Belle nodded in agreement. “She was never particularly stable,” she observed.

Malificent continued to express concerns but as Belle watched the woman, Belle noticed that she was looking around.

“Where ever is that delicious little man you keep around?” she finally asked.

“The Spinner?” Belle asked her.

“I guess, I don’t recall your name for him. He was very nice to look at,” Malificent smiled at her.

“He’s gone to visit his family,” Belle told her evenly.

“Pity. Sorry I missed him. I really liked watching him walk around in those leather pants,” Malificent grinned broadly.

“Me too,” Belle had to agree and allowed the sorceress to leave.

It was after this that Regina showed up, unannounced and uninvited.

“Well, darling. How is everything going for you dear?” she asked, sweeping in, smiling.

“I’m well enough,” Belle told her, watching her closely.

“Really?” Regina asked. “I would think that you’re finding things much too quiet around here.”

Belle made no reply and Regina continued. “I found this,” she held up the charmed porcelain amulet on its silver chain. Belle stopped herself from launching out of her chair. “It had been cast aside on the road. The magic is very strong and _called_ to me. I found it and recognized your distinctive flavor of magic. Of course, it was too late for me to do anything for the man who’d worn it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, apparently from what I could tell, he’d repudiated any connection he might have had with you, ripped off the amulet and ended your glamour. At that point, the villagers had recognized him as one of your minions and fell on him, stoning him to death.” Belle was unable to school her expression into one of blandness, instead her surprise and grief registered immediately on her face. “Oh my! You didn’t know? I’m sooo sorry,” Regina said. “Well, I’m sure you can find another one just as nice. He was only a peasant after all.”

Regina added, “I did dispose of the body. I thought you would want it that way.”

Belle took a deep breath, stilling her anger, quieting her response. She wanted to fly at the woman and gut her. _Belle knew she was lying. The townspeople had had no idea who her sweet Spinner was. Marjorie would have told her._

_No, there was something else going on here._

“I am . . . disappointed,” Belle managed to say finally, steeling herself to keep her voice neutral.

“I would imagine,” Regina told her. “You’d had him around for a couple of years, hadn’t you? Got him well-trained and all. I guess it will be a lot of trouble to replace him.” Regina was watching her intently.

“Nothing lasts for me,” Belle finally replied.

“Ah yes, you are the oldest of us all. I quite forgot. Well, I did want to let you know about your little pet and,” she sighed, “let you know I’m still stuck on my Curse.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“If I can’t work my way through the problem, I may be back to get some help.”

“And why, my dear, why ever would you think I would help you?” Belle asked.

Regina stretched and shrugged. “I would hope for the sake of our dear friendship. Otherwise, well, I guess I’ll have to come up with something you’d be willing to trade for.” She rose and smiled and drifted out of Belle’s castle.

Belle considered chasing after her and eviscerating her on the spot _but that wouldn’t bring her Rumple back._ She had no doubt in her mind that Regina was holding her Spinner. But how and where?

Belle continued to search for her Spinner, using her strongest magics but continuing to come up against walls, having nothing revealed to her.

She would scream and vent her frustration on many of the breakables in the kitchen. The sheer heat from her anger boiled the water in her sunken bathing chamber. She melted the glass in the windows. It didn’t help and she next turned her anger on the glasswear in the dining room, exploding it piece by piece.

Then she stopped. The little cup, the little chipped cup. She had kept it, often drinking from it. It reminded her of the timid, frail Spinner, as he had first stumbled into her lair. It reminded her of what they had built together, of their feelings, of their hopes and dreams together. It reminded her of the pink potion which proclaimed they had True Love. It reminded her of the blue potion she had drunk in the hope, the silly, vain hope that he might consent to fathering a child upon her. She placed the chipped cup on a pedestal and raised a dome around it, a dome that would protect it from her ire. But still, now, for much of the time, she remained furious.

There was a strange sensation in her chest. She was not sure what was causing this. As the Dark One, she no longer experienced pain of any sort, but what she was feeling . . . it was what she remembered as being pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to get out a short satellite story for the Valentine Day’s Rumbelle collection (I've gone through three title changes and nothing has gee-hawed), set with these characters in this world. Look for it soon (maybe Friday?). - thx twyla


	10. But Never Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Spinner struggles to survive in the dark caves, Belle flounders in hope and in her search for him.

There were rare occasions that the Queen would send someone to check on him, although she never ventured into the caves herself. At one point, for her own reasons, she decided he wasn’t getting enough to eat and she ordered more regular meals be sent to him – but sometimes these orders were carried out and sometimes they weren’t. The Queen said something about not wanting him to die before she could enact The Curse, that she just might need him before it was all over.

He’d been in the caves, he didn’t know, a long time, week, months, years? He had long since given up hope of being rescued or released. His clothes had fallen into shreds and rags. His eyes had become used to the darkness. He had ceased to be afraid of the rats that ran through his cell. He would now lie in wait, grab and kill them by strangulation and then he would eat the vermin raw, relishing the hot, wet meat as he wolfed it down.  

He struggled to remember his son, his aunt, the Lady.

Ah! the Lady, her scent, her softness, vague memories of relieving himself in her heat. But all their faces began to blur in his mind. No one spoke to him and it had been long since he had heard his own voice.  

Another man would have gone mad. And he felt his tenuous grasp on sanity begin to fall away from him, some days it slipped from his grasp, but other days he was able to keep a tiny tendril in his mind, a tiny tendril of reason, hope and mindfulness. He remembered the Lady had told him that he that he possessed Slow Magic and he began to try to find this within himself.

_Survival . . . survival was the key._

The Lady had to be looking for him. She would know that he would never abandon her, run away from her. He just had to hold on long enough.

He began to recall green growing things, the distinctive acrid smell of wet sheep, the rough feel of wool between his fingers, the taste of neeps and rumblethumps, the sweet sounds that Belle would make when he joined with her, all the things that were part of the rich earthy tapestry of his life.

And very slowly, he began to realize there was an odd type of Magic surrounding him – not distinctly Dark, although certainly not Light. An old, very old Magic, something coming from the earth. It reached out to him and he somehow knew that it sought not to consume him but to understand him. If he fought against it, it would destroy him for such was its nature. He would never overpower it for it was far too strong for any mortal, but if he could find its distinctive rhythm, perhaps he would survive with his faculties intact. He began to find a stillness in his mind, a stillness the Old Magic answered to.

And he continued to survive.      

There came an odd time. He was dragged out of his cell by several guards who forced him along. He struggled to walk, his legs unused to walking and his ankle gave way, the healings of the Lady long ago consumed by the hunger of the Old Magic. He struggled to see, his eyes unused to the light. He was pushed forward and landed face first in front of the Evil Queen.

“Oh my. You do smell,” she told him.

He did not reply. He did not even struggle to his feet but was brought up by guards so that he was held upright before the Queen.

“Whatever did she see in you?” he heard her ask. “You’re scrawny, unattractive, illiterate no doubt. Can’t imagine she ever took you to her bed.” She walked around him. “But apparently you counted for something to her. She was most upset when I told her you had discarded the amulet and run off as soon as you could."

That sunk in. Regina had lied to Milady. Told her the foulest lie -- that he would willingly leave her, go back on his word, break his promise to her.

“You bitch,” he told her, his voice nearly breaking from disuse. “She is so far above you. Any man she has taken to her bed has been there willingly, whereas you . . no doubt you have to enchant a man to hold him in yours.”

She hit him and the guard released him, allowing him to fall to the ground.

“Think you’re too good for me – both of you! I _will_ cast my Curse and I _will_ have my revenge on you and all the others that have underestimated me,” she hissed at him. “Perhaps I will make Belle my housemaid. That would be an interesting reversal of fortune,” she gloated. “And I shall keep you destitute to see if she ever gives you any notice.”

“Do you think that there is any Curse that is strong enough to stop us from finding each other again?” he asked her. “Do you think that there is any Curse strong enough that we would not see each other for who we truly are?” he asked her, his voice raw from disuse.

_And there was a surge, a strange force, an unfamiliar power. He knew this strength, this energy. This was the Slow Magic that the Lady had talked with him about so long ago, the Magic he controlled, the Magic that could change things._

_He didn’t have to touch it, The Curse that lay on a scroll in her pocket. His words permeated the very fibers, the ink in which it had been written. It changed the Curse, incorporating his wishes into the fabric of the Dark Magic._

_True Love will triumph over all._

Unaware, the Evil Queen grew silent and stormy, her anger nearly beyond anything she had known before. Her fury was simmering and flaming forth.

She flung her anger at him, the flames searing him. He blacked out.

\+ + + + + + +

Belle continued to mourn for her Spinner. She knew there were strong feelings between them, True Love if she could believe her own magic tellings.  

She had waited for Regina to ask her for ransom, but the request had never come. Regina had given Belle back the amulet, sharing she had found it by the roadside. Regina had smirked and feigned concern.

Belle was ashamed to admit it, but a tiny part of her had wondered if Regina might have told her the truth. Perhaps Marjorie didn’t know. Perhaps he _had_ flung away the amulet. Perhaps the villagers _had_ killed him. Perhaps Regina _had_ disposed of the body. That was why she couldn’t find him.

He was no longer there to find.

Belle walked a rolling, twisting path of feelings, the dark feelings that the Dark One relished. There were still times when she would explode in anger. _How could he have left her? She had trusted him! She had treated him with respect, even affection!_ In these, her lowest moments, Belle believed Regina, Regina who had never spoke an entire truth in her live.   In those moments, Belle wallowed in grief and self-pity.

As she walked through her castle, his absence was keenly felt and she felt the weight of her loneliness began to crush her. He had remarked long ago that he felt she must have been lonely. But now, having had him in her life, the loneliness became increasingly unbearable.  She was so much more aware of it because now she had been . . . not lonely.

She had come to depend on the man – not just for his attentive nature in the bedchamber and certainly not for his housekeeping and gardening skills. She depended on his pleasant company, his insightful remarks, his subtle wit, his sharp intelligence so long hidden in a webbing of non-education. She stood by his spinning wheel and remembered there had been happy moments here, when he had tried to teach her to spin and she had been clumsy and had made a knotted mess of the roving _or out of perversity had spun gold and silver_. They had laughed at her pitiable efforts. But then, with his arms around her, they had kissed and found comfort in each.

Frustrated in her attempts to find him, she shut herself up in her tower and grew a dense forest of impenetrable briars around her castle. She would sit for days at a time without moving. Storms moved in and often there was rain and lightning around the castle. Although people had always avoided the area, now no one, for any reason, would come near. No one called upon the Dark One for help; if they did, she did not answer their calls.

It was the dragonet that finally caught her attention. The little creature continued to keen for the Spinner. She was mope and fly all around the keep, the outside bailey, to the top of the tower, all over the castle looking for him. She would crawl up next to Belle who would pet her and offer her what meager comfort she could. At times, the dragonet followed her into her Dark Tower and would peer into the viewing bowl.

Belle had scried for the man several times after he had disappeared. She had used the viewing bowl but it had always remained foggy. She was not sure why this was, for she should be able to find him without the amulet. He should not have been able to hide himself unless he were dead . . . or he had found a powerful enemy _or ally_ who had cloaked him somehow.

The dragonet perched on the side of the bowl. She had fluttered and pushed Belle back up to The Tower one more time. Belle stood looking into the scrying bowl. Her hair was lank and her clothing soiled and wrinkled. She was bent and frail looking. There was no glow in her eyes. The dragonet looked at her expectantly.

“Kari, I’ve tried but nothing happens!” she addressed the dragonet crossly. “I’ve used my own hair and his hairs that I found in the bathing chamber and in our bed. Nothing happens!”

The dragonet held out her claw. “Should I add one of your scales to the mix?” she asked. The dragonet continued to hold out her claw.

Belle sighed. “All right then,” knowing that the dragonet possessed her own kind of magic. “I’ll try once more. But if nothing happens, I can’t do this again,” she warned the dragonet. “It hurts too much.” And Belle collected one hair from the few she still had left that had belonged to her Spinner. She pulled out one of her own and she gently pried a single tiny scale from the dragonet. She dropped them into the foaming bowl and watched as the mist boiled over the sides, running across the table top and down the sides of the table onto the floor. More mist than she had ever seen spewed forth from the bowl and Belle recognize that perhaps Rumple had been well and deeply hidden, that the magics of the bowl were struggling to cut through a thick wall of magic to find him.

But find him, she did, with the added blessing of dragon magic.

She drew back. He was in a dark cave, in rags, emaciated and filthy. Her heart went out to him.

He had been taken prisoner, but had it been Regina? Who would have dared to risk her wrath by taking the Spinner prisoner? Who would have been able to penetrate his disguise to even recognize the man? Who would have done this?

In a single moment, her energies returned, her strength buoyed her. She stood straight.

It had never occurred to his captor that she would continue to look for him for, what had it been, two years? Perhaps, after two years, perhaps the shielding had begun to grow slack. Perhaps his own Slow Magic had answered her scrying. Belle had searched for the man, many weeks, many months, using every spell she knew. She had researched other locator spells . . . but nothing had revealed his location to her – until now.

Through the fog of the viewing bowl, she examined the area around the cave and recognized the Winter Palace.  There was no question.  Regina was holding him.

_The little dragon knew – she knew where the Spinner was. Belle took the first True Love potion she had brewed, the one from the Blue Fairy’s couple, and poured it over her hands. She then transformed herself into the form of a white moon moth. She followed the dragonet as she flew up the side of the mountain¸ the mountain that lay beneath the Queen’s castle_.

She had no doubt. _Regina_. Regina was still hard at work on her Curse to end all curses – something to get revenge on her step-daughter. Regina was keeping the Spinner prisoner in case she needed to exchange him for the final piece of information to make her Curse work. Belle had had little enough to do with the Curse but did understand it was to take everyone to a place with no magic. Seemed like a silly thing to do. Belle also knew why Regina’s efforts at casting the Curse had failed, despite Regina’s years of efforts. Such a powerful Curse would require an extreme sacrifice.

And Regina was too cowardly to entertain what she would have to do.

Belle knew what she had to do. If her efforts resulted in the Regina being able to cast the Curse, if Belle lost her magic, so be it, as long as Belle was able to free her Spinner.

\+ + + + + + +

Regina felt . . . _uncomfortable_ as if some insect had crept into her bed and was crawling across her body. She looked around.

Nothing there. Her cool marble castle was clear and empty except for her own presence.

But something wasn’t right.

Regina was sitting in her throne room, her large, empty throne room. She looked around the room, using her _sight_. Nothing.

But something wasn’t right. She got up and walked around the gallery. The room was all smooth, polished black and white marble, pristine and cold. There was no hint of color, or warmth, no suggestion of comfort, of human compassion. It suited her. She relished the cool hard impression of the place, feeling that it reflected her own heart.

Finally satisfied that no one was there she turned to go back to her work place which was behind the obsidian throne. She stopped.

Lounging on her throne was The Dark One, Lady Belle. She was dressed in one of her usual silken dresses with layers and fringe and embroidery.

“Darling, dropping in to see me so unexpectedly,” Regina tried to cover her annoyance _and bit of fear. The Dark One had walked through her protections, cutting through and flinging them aside like so many cobwebs. She had not even set off an alarm._

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t be busy,” Belle answered her smoothly.

Regina prickled. Belle would have had to have known about her abortive attempts to cast The Dark Curse. Belle would know that she was frantically trying to discover why her attempts had failed, what had gone wrong, trying to discover what she did need to do to get it right.

“Not very,” Regina tried to pass things off. _Why are you here, you dark brooding bitch?_ “Were you just in the area or did you have a purpose?”

“Looking for someone,” Belle said lounging on the throne, sitting sideways on the seat, her legs draped over the side.

“And you think I can help?” Regina said off-handedly. _She wouldn’t be here . . . she couldn’t be here for . . . the Spinner? Did Belle suspect that she had the Spinner?_ Regina knew he was still being held deep under her castle under seriously powerful protections, many of which dated far back before Regina, before even the Dark One had tread the paths of this world.

“Yes,” answered the Dark Witch.

“Who might it be, this person you are looking for?” Regina asked warily. _She did not trust the Dark One and knew well that in a face to face match, the Dark One would be able to take her._

“Someone of little consequence,” Belle began.

“Then how would I know him?” Regina asked.

“The same way that you know it’s a ‘him’ I’m asking about. You were always curious about my kitchen helper. Not sure why. He’s most unremarkable.”

“Then why are you looking for him?”

“Because he belongs to me . . .” Belle sat up and looked Regina directly in the eyes. “And I don’t share what belongs to me.”

“If I should know where this inconsequential . . . person is, and I’m not saying I do, I would want to know what you would be willing to deal for him.”

“For him . . .” Belle stood. “Nothing. It would be but a small part of a larger package.”

“Go on,” Regina was curious.

“You are having a problem casting your Curse.”

“I . . . don’t admit to that,” Regina said slowly.

“You are having problems. You’ve been floundering for years,” Belle said flatly. “Let me see it.” And she held out here hand.

Regina looked at her a long moment. The Dark One had actually been credited with creating this particular Curse. She would know better than anyone.

Reluctantly, half afraid that Belle would take the Curse and disappear, Regina reached into a deep pocket, pulled out the little scroll and handed it over.   Belle glanced over it, from time to time, touching the wording as if she was reading it through her fingertips _allowing the Magic of the True Love potion to run off her hands and find its way into the workings of the Curse._ _There -- she had fulfilled her end of the bargain with the Blue Fairy._

_And a name came into her head – Emma Swan. The Savior. That name would wake Belle when the time came._

_As she pretended to peruse the scroll, her heart leaped. She couldn’t help but recognize the fine, subtle touch of Rumple’s own Slow Magic. He had been close to the scroll at some point and had made A Change in it._

Finally Belle announced, “You’re not doing it right.” And she handed it back.

“What am I doing wrong, then?”

“Ah, I will tell you but I want something in return.”

“Go ahead,” Regina answered sharply. _Of course, the Dark One would want something. She never gave anything away._

“This new land you’re taking us all to . . . it doesn’t sound very nice.”

“It’s not. No one will live happily there except me.”

“I understand. Well, I’ve not been thinking I shall get a happily ever after, given the kinds of villainous acts I’ve been involved with. But,” she stood and walked over to Regina. Despite her small frame she managed to look more like a queen than the taller woman. “I do want my servant back – now. And, in this new land I shall want . . . comfort.”

Regina considered. It was a small price to pay. “And in exchange for this you will tell me how to cast my Curse?” _Well damn, she wouldn’t be able to have Belle as a drudge for herself now._

Belle nodded.

“You shall have all you’ve asked for,” Regina promised. “Is it a deal?”

“I think so,” Belle answered her.

“You know you won’t remember a thing if the Curse is cast,” Regina reminded her.

“I know. But I hardly think you would risk making a deal with me and breaking it.”

Regina nearly shuddered. The Dark One was known for her unbreakable deals. Terrible things happened to people who broke a deal with the Dark One.

“I’ll keep my end,” she finally answered. It was worth it, anything was worth it to cast this spell, to get her revenge.

“Where is he, then?” Belle asked.

“He’s in the mountain dungeon, the one dug by the dwarves, protected by the most ancient of Magics, something before the Light and Dark.”

“You have a key,” stated Belle and she held out her hand. She knew somewhat of the Old Magic in the mountain caves. It would be easier if she had the key, knowing that she would have only a limited amount of time before the Old Magic would take her strength and overcome her. Regina reluctantly searched her chatelaine and produced a key which she handed to Belle.

_Regina did not tell the Dark One that she herself had tried, but had not managed to go into the caves. She had tried several times, but each time the hungers of the Old Magic had quickly swirled around her and had begun to siphon off her energies, stifling her, suffocating her. Let the Dark Bitch see if she had better luck in the caves. Perhaps the Old Magic would consume her before she found the peasant._

Belle took and key and then leaned over to whisper, “You must sacrifice the heart of the one you hold dearest.”

“But I sacrificed the heart of my favorite horse,” Regina protested.

Belle scoffed. “Not the heart of a horse, you silly girl. This is the most powerful Curse ever created. You know, you know what you have to do. Go do it.” And she got up and swept out.

Belle moved quickly. She knew she had to move quickly before Regina went ahead with her insane Curse. She and the dragonet transported to the mountain gate and she used the key to gain entry, recognizing that she had only a little time before the Curse would be cast and the World overwhelmed.

The caves were difficult, full of odd vestigial powers of entities long gone. The taste of this Magic was bitter, unpalatable. It was flavored differently from other magics she had experienced and she suspected Fairy Magic had somehow been interwoven with Dark Magic, creating this intolerable atmosphere. But there was something else here, some old, very old Magic here. Older than the Fae, older than the Dark One, even older than dragons. It was swirling around her, touching her, stroking her. She felt nausea rise in her sickened by the sourness, the sorrow of the place and steeled herself. She had to find her Spinner.

She looked around, her eyes piercing the black void of the caves -- this place! This place was horrific! There was the cold, damp and dark atmosphere that would have taken the soul of most humans in short order.  The very walls here were also permeated with an atmosphere of despair, of hopelessness. There were entities here, neither good nor evil, neither light nor dark. Entities made of Hunger. They sucked the life out of anything that moved under its own volition. Most humans would go mad in this place within a few months.

And her sweet, sensitive Spinner had been imprisoned here for two years! If she’d had more time, she would have berated herself for not doing more toward finding him sooner, for not believing in him. How could she have ever believed that he would leave her? She went further and further back into the mountain and it became darker and darker. She raised several fireballs to illuminate her path. The dragonet landed on her shoulder and entwined her tail in Belle’s hair and made little distressed sounds.

“It will be all right, little Kari,” she assured the little creature who she suspected was also feeling the Old Magic pressing in.

As the Hunger began to coalesce about her, she felt herself being pulled down. She sought strength in her own Darkness but found that only made the Hunger stronger. Then she began to tap on the strength that came from her feelings for the Spinner, the True Love she had accepted was between them. The Hunger recognized True Love and honored it. The Hunger recognized her thoughts of The Spinner and as It had come to honor him, It honored her and allowed her to pass. She was able to keep moving.

It might have been a quarter mile before she sensed him. There was a cage . . . a cage with bars made from the bones of some ancient enormous creature. She could hear something move, shuffling.

“Rumple?” she called softly.

She could hear laughter, maniacal giggling, insane cackling.

“Rumple,” she called to him again. “I’ve come for you, darling. It’s your lady, Belle.”

Suddenly his face loomed up against the bars of the cage. She instinctively stepped back, startled by his appearance. “You feed the madness and it feeds on you,” he rasped out.

Her heart, even cloaked in the Darkness as it was, hurt for him. “Rumple, darling. I’m going to let you out. We have only a few moments before Regina lets loose her Curse.” She used her lights to illuminate the area causing what was left of the Spinner to cringe back and blink, his eyes hurting from the lights. She unlocked the cage again using the key.

“Come on, dearest. Come with me. I want us to be out of this horrible place as soon as we can be.” She extended her hand to him. He cowered for a moment in the back of the cage but then, slowly, trembling, he reached out and took her hand. He struggled to walk and she knew he needed a cane, that his brutalized ankle was crippling him. _Apparently the Hunger had long ago consumed her healing spell taking this protection from him._ She allowed him to lean on her as they stumbled out of the cave.

He smelled.   His clothes were rags. And so, so thin he was. Never a big man, he was a pale wraith of what he had been even from that time when he had first shown up on her doorstep. He was chattering with cold and pain.

“Milady?” he rasped out as if he had just now figured out who she was.

“Yes, darling. I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you sooner. I was told you had abandoned me, broken your word to me and I . . . I didn’t keep looking for you. I was such a fool. But I missed you so much and . . . well, finally I decided to try once more to find you. And I found you kept prisoner here.”

Struggling with each step, trying to avoid uneven places in the cave floor, using her lights as guides, the threesome made their way out of the cave. As they cleared the entrance, Belle allowed the emaciated, exhausted Spinner a moment to rest.

“Darling,” she sat down next to him, not sure how much he would be able to understand in his current shape. “Darling, listen. Something is about to happen. We shall be torn apart yet again. We will not know each other, but I wanted you to know, we will find each other again.”

“Belle?” he called her by name. It was as if he was trying to remember her. “I love you, Belle.”

“And I love you, Rumple,” she told him. _It was not perhaps strictly true, but as much as any Dark One, as much as anyone possessed of the Darkness, the Evilness, there was still some soul of goodness in things evil that allowed her to feel some shadow of the feeling._

It was enough.

_Belle was pleased enough with her efforts. She had managed to insert yet one more powerful loophole (there were several) into the Curse, one last possible way to break the damn thing once it had been cast, putting the traces of the True Love’s potion into the scroll when she had held it in Regina’s palace._

_Belle had watched the efforts of the Blue Fairy to foster this couple with True Love and knew their child would be a powerful magic wielder. She knew Blue had made arrangements for the child to be raised apart from its parents. This child, this child would find her own True Love and this power would shatter the Curse. She had now learned the child’s name and should Belle ever hear it, knew it would awaken her._

_Oh, but it was likely all a vain hope._

Then everything was gone.


	11. Course of True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Curse has been cast. Without memories of who they were Before and what they meant to each other, Rumple (now Elias Gold) and Belle (now Lacey French) tentatively embark on a new relationship in Storybrooke.

Elias Gold was a very hard-working man. But he never seemed to get ahead.

At best, he might break even.

At best, he might have just enough to pay his bills.

He had a small bookstore, Shakespeare and Company, that sold mostly books (of course) and magazines, but also offered coffee, tea, cocoa and cider to those that were interested. He sold picture books to the parents of toddlers. He had a large section devoted to teen clients, including comics and graphic novels. He sold fiction, both the classics and the new, and he sold non-fiction, a carefully selected range of topics for the discriminating customer. He even had some rare books that he kept under lock and key that he would show to special clients.

It was not a big shop but he had managed to wind his antique bookshelves around into a maze of corridors and passageways to maximize his limited space. The floors were a dark, smooth-polished wood that were kept swept and clean. There were two large lead-paned glass windows in the front of the shop. They jutted out and, on the extended sills, he would have displays that changed with the seasons. Out front were a couple of planters that produced prolific creamy white roses in the summer months. The front door was heavy wooden affair decorated with a beveled glass window and equipped with a little bell that would alert anyone inside the shop that someone had come in. Gold, who had a severely damaged ankle, would sit behind a long counter to prepare the ordered drinks and to ring up purchases on the copper-toned old-fashioned cash register. The shop cat, Kari, a large marmalade orange queen with deep emerald green eyes, would often sleep on the ledge of one of the windows or, if she were bothered by the over-eager attentions of patrons, on a cushion behind the counter.

Gold had no employees, managing the buying, the deliveries, the shelving, the selling, the . . . everything . . . himself. He typically worked fourteen hours a day, often longer, in his little shop. He took Sunday mornings off, but opened his shop after noon, often pulling in townspeople who were willing to come out for a leisurely cup of coffee or whatever on a chill, quiet afternoon.  

His income went for the rent of the building, his utilities, food for the cat, and whatever was left over, for groceries for himself, and then, if anything was left, for sundry small expenses. He lived in the small back room of the shop with a single burner stove top, a mini-fridge and a cot. Out the back, in what would have been an alley, he had managed to foster some raised bed gardens and supplemented his meager food supply with home-grown vegetables.

It was November, typically a slow month. People weren’t quite at the point that they were buying books for Christmas gifts and they were too busy to take a moment to buy themselves a magazine and a cup of coffee.

Elias had gone over his proceeds. He’d gone over and over them.

He was going to come up short.

He debated. He had to keep the electricity on. And the water. His shop wouldn’t function without those things.

He thought it through. He could eat beans and ramen noodles, do without and drink water, so he could pass on buying groceries for a couple of weeks.  He would supplement his diet with cabbages and carrots grown under cold frames from his garden out back. There he managed to grow tomatoes and potatoes in the summer and cabbage in the winter. It was where he had a nice patch of herbs that he was able to use to season his otherwise bland diet. The cabbages were especially doing well this year under his cold frame.

He considered. Kari, his big marmalade cat, was getting a bit plump; he could cut her rations a bit. She was a good mouser and would likely go out and supplement her diet – or lose a little.

No, the problem was, he was going to be short on his rent.

To say he was distraught was an understatement. His landlady wasn’t a forgiving nor understanding type. She had been known to cast families out onto the street for being ten dollars short on their rent. He was not sure what he was going to do and had agonized over his options.

Not that the woman didn’t have an angelic face and the figure of a siren . . . but nonetheless she had the reputation of being a bitch on wheels. He counted himself lucky that he had never ran afoul of her temper.

She would often come into his shop and would often buy a book or five. When she would come to the register, he wouldn’t, couldn’t meet her eyes – her cerulean blue eyes. She was young, beautiful, rich and powerful and owned this building, along with most other buildings in town. She was also a well-known thorn in the side of Mayor Mills. Feeling impoverished, unsuccessful and generally impotent, he had always felt nervous around her and would strive not to fumble when trying to give back her change and her receipt.

_But he thought her beautiful and, in his most honest moments, extremely desirable (although her skirts were too short and her heels too high – if he had been her father . . . . As it was, he wasn’t her father and very much appreciated her chic style). But she would never give someone like himself more than a passing glance. He felt like a mere peasant in the presence of wealthy, powerful woman._

Odd, he wasn’t fearful or nervous around anyone else in town, not even the all-powerful Mayor. Fortunately, that hard-as-nails fury rarely came into the book store. On those few occasions she graced his place, she would usually just buy a magazine, usually some vapid glossy fashion publication. He thought of her as a smug, severely dressed cold fish. He didn’t like her, he didn’t like her at all, although he could force himself to smile and exchange pleasantries with the woman.

There were other regulars. Miss Maggie, a sweet, older unmarried lady who lived with her great-nephew, was a frequent customer. Miss Maggie liked to pick up the knitting and crafting magazines, after all, she ran the Weaver’s Knot down the street. The nephew was a well-liked eighteen-year-old who had graduated from school last year and was biding his time trying to figure out the next step in his life. The nephew, Bryson, favored history books and computer guides. From what Gold could see, Bryson was a good kid, looking out for his aunt who had a tenuous income. Bryson already was working a variety of part time jobs, at the animal shelter in the day and in the evenings at the drug store, but he was always ready to do the odd job to pick up extra money. If Elias had had any money to spare, he would have hired Bryson to work in the café corner.

There was also Colonel Pierce, a retired army officer who loved to come into the book store, read the paper and do the crossword puzzle. Gold enjoyed chatting with the officer who seemed to relate to him in a fatherly manner.

There were others. Jefferson Madden, an eccentric young man who bought mostly science fiction and fantasy, was a regular. He taught chemistry at the high school and was a great favorite with the students, especially the girls. And Robert Forrest, a fireman for the town and a young widower with a four-year-old son was often in to buy Highlights and picture books for his boy. Gold counted these last two as friends and, once a month, would allow them to talk him into meeting with them at the town’s only bar, The Rabbit Hole.

There was also Leroy Colvig, a gruff but somehow kindly man who generally worked (when he worked) as a custodian. He often bought magazines related to homesteading.

And there was Mary Margaret, another high school teacher who was always looking for new ideas to keep her students interested. She was another one of his regulars splitting her limited free time between his shop, the diner and volunteering to read to patients at the hospital.

No one was in the shop at the moment. It was late and everyone was at home eating their suppers and watching television. Elias was sitting and reviewing his valuable items. Perhaps she would take something on hock. She had never been known to give a tenant such a break, but he was desperate enough to try.

\+ + + + + +

Lacey French was indeed the wealthiest woman in Storybrooke, wealthier than even the mayor. Her father had been a dismal financial failure and she, being a very bright girl, had decided early on that she would not succumb to a similar fate. She had studied. She had indentured herself to one of her father’s business cronies and had learned how to manage finances. She’d put herself through school. She had slowly begun to buy up property. She had begun to invest, clever, risky, but high-paying investments. When her father’s business buddy had died in an unfortunate accident, she had stepped in and taken on much of his business. She had been smart and fortunate. She had also learned to be ruthless and merciless.

It had all paid off and at a tender age of twenty-six she was easily, if not the most powerful, then the second most powerful, person in town. She owned more than half the physical property in the town and had a comfortable portfolio of a couple of million dollars.

People were respectful, even afraid of her. She had a large, luxurious home, a luxurious car and a luxurious wardrobe. She was very successful.

She was also very lonely.

As she collected her rents on the cold November evening, she gave an occasional thought to her lonely state. But what was a girl to do?

There had been a few flings with some of the town’s would-be studs, the aging athletes, the constabulary, even a few of the bad boys that she had picked up in the Rabbit Hole. But they had all been, well, _unsatisfactory._ They had all been rough and crude and she didn’t want that. She wanted someone who was kind and gentle.

She had long since given up on finding someone who would satisfy her, who _could_ satisfy her. She had instead focused on getting more money.

She stepped into Gold’s little book store on the cold, dark November night. This was her last stop – planned that way. She looked forward to spending a little quiet time with the owner of the bookstore. She would often get a cup of coffee prior to heading home. Sometimes she could talk him into having a cup with her and there had been a few times that she had talked him into adding a little butterscotch schnapps into the brew.

Lacey had always thought well of the older man who ran the place. He was quiet and respectful, almost, no, not almost, he was _absolutely_ timid around her. She had admired his sure, clever hands and long capable fingers and she couldn’t help but notice that he was fumbly and clumsy around her, which she thought was sweet. She thought he had pretty eyes, although he seemed to struggle to look at her. She also thought his compact body held the promise of coiled strength and energy and she would relish the heat his simple presence would provide.   He avoided conversation with her, but she had attributed that to him being shy.

She’d always thought his shop was a pleasant, warm, comfy place – a welcoming place.  The shop cat, Kari, would usually rouse herself and pad over to her for a head pat. Lacey especially enjoyed perusing Gold’s selection of out-of-print and rare volumes and she suspected that he would go out of his way to obtain some books in which she had expressed interest. She always liked to sit in the corner where there were several tables and chairs. It was always Gold, whom she knew could not afford to hire any help, who would make her beverage and operate the register to check her out.

She knew the place was on a knife edge, barely making enough to make the rent, despite the many customers, despite the best efforts of its owner.

Lacey also knew that the other women in town had not given the man a second glance. He was older with a limp and clearly not very successful. His clothes, always clean and pressed, were threadbare. Lacey wondered when the last time was that he had bought himself anything to wear or bought himself anything for that matter that he didn’t absolutely need. His social life was nil. He had few friends, no outside pastimes, likely no family. She’d heard there’d been a wife at one time, but the rumor was that she had left him for greener pastures. There had been a son, but whether he’d died or the two had grown apart, well, he was not in the picture.   Despite his lack of financial success, his social isolation and his shy, retiring demeanor, Lacey still found him _interesting._

“Well, Mr. G. how goes it?” she had asked as she had stepped through the door, causing his little bell to ring after her.

“It’s November, Miss French,” he told her looking up from behind the counter. He was dreading this. He hated confrontation and cursed himself for being a coward. But he knew he had to deal forthright with this matter or he could find himself out on the street before the night was over.   He could find himself out on the street even if he was forthright in the matter.

He had everything to lose.

There was no one else in the shop.

“Is everything all right?” Lacey asked him. The man seemed anxious.

He hesitated, looking down, not meeting her eyes. “I . . . I seem to be a little short this month, Miss French.” He looked up at her and talked quickly. “Now I know I’ll make it up next month. December is always a great month for business with the holiday season and shoppers and all. I know I’ll be able to pay you what I don’t have for this month with interest.” He looked so hopeful and so forlorn at the same time.

“You don’t have your rent money,” she made sure she understood _a plan beginning to form in her mind._

“I don’t,” he confirmed. “I could let you hold onto this bowl instead of the money. It’s mostly silver and worth more than what I’m missing.” He presented her with a burnished silver bowl with an odd rolled and scalloped edge.

She didn’t say anything. _This was an opportunity._

“Or I could offer to shovel your driveway or do any odd jobs you needed,” he continued on nervously.

She still didn’t respond. _But if she went forward with her plan . . . .? What would he think? How would he respond?_

_Just because she found him attractive . . . he might not, he probably didn’t see her the same way. He probably thought of her as a flibbertigibbet, a brainless twenty-something who was bored and looking for kicks._

“Please, Miss French. This shop is all I have in the world,” he was desperate. He knew he sounded desperate but he couldn’t help it.

Lacey considered. _Oh lord, what if he were gay or what if whatever had injured his ankle had also taken out the family jewels or what if he was already secretly shagging other woman? For all she knew he could be having a flaming affair with the friggin' mayor, Regina Mills._

“Miss French?” The waiting for her response was agony.

She licked her lips. “Mr. Gold, would you possibly consider another option?” _She knew she was taking a big risk, but she had not earned her fortune by not taking risks._

_She was, by god, tired of waiting for a relationship to happen. She need to go after happiness._

“Yes ma’am,” he answered eagerly. _What might she want him to do? He would be eager to offer her any service for the opportunity to keep his store._

He was stunned beyond all words, beyond all feeling, when she suddenly leaned over the counter top and kissed him on the lips.

“Mi . . .Mi . . .Miss French?” he stammered.

“I find you very attractive, Mr. Gold,” Lacey told him, breathlessly. _She had also not earned her fortune by being shy and withdrawn._

“Ma . . . Ma’am?” he wasn’t sure what to make of this turn of events. _This gorgeous, desirable woman had just kissed him! Damn, he’d immediately responded, his body tightening._

Lacey demurely pulled down on the bottom of her blouse which had come out of her skirt when she had leaned over the counter. “I find you very attractive, Mr. Gold,” she repeated. “Do you . . . could you . . . find me . . . attractive?” she asked softly.

Elias was not quite understanding what his landlady was suggesting _and he was slightly scandalized_. _She couldn’t possibly mean what he was thinking._ “Miss French? What is it you’re asking from me?”

“Some of your time, some of your attention,” she answered. “Nothing unseemly,” she clarified her request. “Perhaps, if we seem compatible, seeing each other maybe once a week. Nothing fancy, just perhaps supper at the diner.” She watched his face for a reaction. “But only if you’re interested. I would take this peculiar bowl otherwise to hold until you pay. I’m sure you’ll be good for everything next month,” she finished up her proposal.

Elias was slow on the uptake. He couldn’t quite grasp that the delectable, exquisite Miss French might want to . . . she might want to have him . . . she wanted to date him! His mouth had gone dry. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

He swallowed. “Miss French, if I’m understanding you, you are asking me to . . . to begin . . . dating you, perhaps seeing you as often as once a week. And you’ll give me an extension on my rent?”

“I’ll forgive your shortage,” Lacey sighed. “If you like, and I’m only offering this because I think you’re an old-fashioned kind of man who likes to be the one to pay for things, I’ll give you a permanent reduction in your rent, more than enough for you to pay for our dates.”

Gold swallowed, unsure of what to say next. “You understand this puts me in an awkward position,” he began.

“I’m offering to pay for your company not . . . your personal . . . services,” she summarized the situation. “And I’m just talking about no-strings attached occasional dinner dates. You’re free to see other women as I would be to see other men.” She leaned in. “I find myself craving intellectual company, mature, insightful company and I haven’t found anyone else in this podunk of a town who comes close to be able to provide such -- excepting yourself.”

“So this would be for my company?” he further clarified. “Intellectual company only.” He considered the offering. “That might work. If it were for anything else, well, I . . . I would have to tell you that my ex-wife was quite clear that I was . . . very . . . uh . . . ina . . .in . . . inadequate,” he stammered.

“Well, I’m not proposing anything beyond dinner, so I don’t think that any . . . inadequacy will be a concern,” she assured him with confidence. “Would you like to begin with a date this evening?” she asked.

He realized that she was going to forgive him the rent shortage, that she wasn’t going to kick him out of his shop, that all she was asking was to share a meal once a week, maybe once a week. There was a moment of elation. He could do that, yes, he could do that. He could accept a dinner invitation from the woman.

But there was a problem.

Embarrassed, he told her, “Miss French, I would love to have supper with you tonight, but,” he might have been blushing from humiliation, “my funds are embarrassingly depleted.”

She smiled and reached into her pocketbook. She pulled out two twenties and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll hold onto the bowl for these,” she told him and dropped it into the cavernous bag she always carried.

“Give me a moment to shut things up,” he asked her and soon enough, he was able to slip on a heavy coat and, ever the gentleman, he escorted her down the street to the diner. He leaned on his cane with one hand and she rested her hand on his other arm. As they walked in together through the front door of the painfully florescent-lit diner, he tried to ignore all the pairs of eyes that turned to them. It was likely that Miss French was used to such scrutiny as it didn’t seem to bother her.

_But they were probably looking at him. After all, she probably ate out all the time. He rarely to never ate a meal out here in the diner or anywhere else for that matter._

Ruby came over to take their order. Lacey ordered first, “My favorite, Ruby, a hamburger with extra pickles, French fries and iced tea.”

Gold hesitated over the menu. On those few isolated occasions that he had eaten at Granny’s, he had usually gotten the cheapest thing on the menu, a plain grilled cheese, no fries or cole slaw, with water to drink.

Lacey watched him, “Mr. Gold, you told me that you were going to order a steak and baked potato, that you had been looking forward to getting this for supper all day. You had promised yourself. You aren’t going to go back on this now are you?” she asked him in front of Ruby.

He did the math. The forty would cover Miss French’s burger, fries and tea and, should he go ahead and order it, a small steak and baked potato for himself – it would easily cover it. There would be more than enough for him to get an iced tea for himself.   _How long had it been since he’d had a steak? He couldn’t remember._

He glanced at Miss French and swallowing what little was left of his pride, he nodded his head, “Yes, yes, I’ll have the steak and baked potato, with . . . uh . . . with iced tea.”

“Sure thing,” Ruby didn’t seem astonished at someone ordering a steak and potato with iced tea. Other people must do that sometimes so it wasn’t unheard of. He relaxed. A little.

After Ruby had left to put in their orders there was an awkward silence. Gold looked down at his lap not having any idea of what to say.

“I like the pumpkin spice coffee you’ve added to your line-up,” Lacey told him.

“Thank you. It seemed appropriate, given the season. I can keep it on the menu through Thanksgiving and then I’ll have something else as a featured item,” he told her. Then he looked down again.

“False scarcity – a clever, if common, marketing ploy,” she told him. “Have you thought of selling cheesecake or pastries to go along with the drinks? That might be a nice addition.”

“I’d have to put in a refrigerated case for the cheesecake,” he told her shaking his head at the expense this would be. “But I have thought of working out something with Granny and selling some pastries,” he admitted. “I had also thought of encouraging Mary Margaret’s book club to meet at the bookstore once a month. I’d like to sponsor a preschool story-time once a week, but I’d have to get someone to read to the children. I wouldn’t be able to do the reading and run the store. I’d thought of doing some different kinds of book clubs, maybe a romance club, a mystery club, a Jungian society and so forth.”

He was becoming more animated as he shared some of his ideas for the shop. “I’d think it might be fun, a couple of times a year, to have people, adults and children, come in costumes that relate to a theme, perhaps a book that’s been made into a movie. Make a contest of it.” He suddenly became aware that he had spoken at length, aloud and, even worse, had shared some of his private ideas, dreams for the bookstore. He looked back down at his lap.

Lacey smiled at him. “Those are all wonderful ideas. Listen I’m good with money and money decisions. Why don’t we work out an expansion plan and move on some of those ideas?”

“I don’t know,” he told her, suddenly withdrawn. “I barely have enough time to do what I do now.”

“Well then, sounds like outsourcing is a need,” she told him, grabbing some napkins and taking some notes.

Ruby brought their food by. Gold had to hold himself back and not devour the steak. He forced himself to eat slowly and consume small bites afraid that he might vomit the meal up if he devoured it quickly. _That would be the crowning touch – if he spewed the fine meal all over the floor in front of Miss French and the other diner patrons._ Lacey ate her meal with dainty bites, rotating between the burger, the fries and her tea making them come out evenly.

He paid for the meal with the forty Lacey had advanced him and left a generous tip. He insisted on walking Lacey home. In front of her elegant house, in the high-end residential part of town, she turned to him.

“I had a wonderful time,” she told him.

“So did I. Thank you, Miss French,” he responded. Then he added, “for everything.” Then there was an awkward moment.

_Gold wasn’t sure what to do. Should he give her a hearty handshake, a peck on the cheek, a high five, grab her for a hot kiss bending her back to the sidewalk? He settled for a nod and a fleeting smile._

Lacey French watched him limp off. _Poor man, the cold must bother his leg terribly._ Perhaps not the greatest start, but a start nonetheless.


	12. The Robbed that Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey and Gold continue to get to know each other (in actuality they are following their own previously trod paths). Their relationship deepens.
> 
> Warning for references to child sexual abuse.

The following evening, Robert and Jefferson stopped by. It was Saturday night and this was their standing once a month get-the-bookseller-out-of-his-shop appointment. The two would descend on Elias Gold and drag him along with them down to the Rabbit Hole where the three would spend a couple of hours drinking and shooting pool. Gold had not always been able to cover his own tab and the other two would argue about whose turn it was to pay for everyone. After bickering a while, one or the other would end up picking up the entire bill for the group, letting Gold know that he could get the tab ‘next week.’

“Heard you were seen with the delectable Miss French,” Jefferson told him once they had settled into their usual corner table of the bar. Gold startled – he should have expected as much. This was, after all, a small town and full of gossips.

“She came by to collect the rent and . . . uh . . . we ended up going out for supper,” he felt comfortable sharing this much.

“Dating your landlady? Sure that’s a good idea?” Robert asked him. “I mean she’s gorgeous but . . . well, she’s always seemed a bit . . .” he searched for the right word, “unpredictable to me.”

“She’s shy and lonely,” Gold replied. “I don’t know that I’d want to cross her, but she’s really a nice lady.”

“Until she doesn’t get her way,” Robert continued. He took a drink. “Of course, I guess you don’t want to piss off the landlady by telling her ‘no.’ She could end up raising your rent.”

“Gotta appreciate what she does with Mayor Mills, though,” Jefferson shared. “When our fine mayor wanted to pave over that lot so she would have a convenient place to park her car, Miss French fought her tooth and nail . . .”

“And likely threatened different council members,” Robert interrupted.

“Probably,” agreed Jefferson. “But she got Mills to back off and then privately funded a little private park in that same lot.”

“That was private money?” Gold asked. “I thought the town funded that.”

“Nope,” Jefferson informed them. “Miss French took some effort to keep it quiet, but Sidney Glass got wind of it. He didn’t publish it in the _Storybrooke Mirror_ , of course; that would’ve made the mayor look bad.”

“So how did you find out about it?” Robert asked.

Jefferson grinned, “Sidney chats a lot when he drinks. Not a good characteristic in a reporter. I hear Miss French’s latest project is to get more funding for the fire department. That affects you, Robert.”

Robert sighed. “Yeah it does. I can’t tell you how many trips I’ve made to the mayor’s office to ask for money – not for my salary – that would be nice -- but to update our equipment. I’m afraid if there’s a fire, some of those old hoses won’t be able to withstand the water pressure that’s going to be shooting through them.”

“Does the mayor just turn you down?” Gold asked him.

“Oh, not directly. She talks about ‘fiscal responsibility’ and ‘doing more with less’ and such. I’ve actually used the word ‘infrastructure’ in a sentence when talking with her. We get nowhere and make another appointment in a week to talk again.”

“So, the mayor isn’t turning you down flat?” Gold followed up.

Robert shook his head. “But with Miss French involved and wanting the additional funding, Gina’s had to entrench and she will continue to refuse to save face.”

“So she’s ‘Gina’ now?” Jefferson asked.

Robert looked a bit chagrined. “Okay, yeah. When we’re not formally meeting, we’re on a first name basis.”

Jefferson glanced at Gold. “So has this gone beyond formal meetings with the mayor in her office? Gone out for lunch, perhaps intimate suppers?”

“Hey, we’re talking about Gold and Miss French, here. Not me and Gina . . . uh, Mayor Mills,” protested Robert.

Jefferson finished off his drink and ordered a second. He looked at Gold closely. “We’ll drop it, Robert . . . for now. But as for Gold here and Miss French, well, I think those two could be good for each other,” he offered slowly.

“What?! No offense but our buddy Gold here is probably twice her age. She’s a rich privileged young thing used to having her way and is probably just – no offense – slumming with him.”

“How could I possibly be offended?” Gold asked sourly, muttering into his own beer.

“She wasn’t born rich,” Jefferson told the two. “She had a tough life early on with her mother dying and her dad having his own issues. She worked hard, was smart and made the most of her opportunities.  I stand by what I said. I think she and Gold could be good for each other.”

“What do you know about her?” Gold asked.

Jefferson shrugged. “I know a lot of stuff, stuff most people wouldn’t believe.” Jefferson paused, taking a drink from his beer. “You know, most of the time things seem the same here, one day after another. Like every day is repeating itself. It’s exciting for me to have something different happening. You and Lacey French – that’s something different,” and he raised his own beer and toasted the older man.

Gold debated but finally decided to use the remains of the forty Miss Lacey had given him to treat his friends, something that was also decidedly different.

\+ + + + +

Lacey came by again to see Rumple the following week, suggesting an investment strategy and again dragging him out to the diner and pressuring him into ordering himself a full meal. She was concerned that he wasn’t getting enough to eat. She suspected he spent more on that pudgy cat’s food than on his own.

They settled into a routine over the next few weeks. Lacey lowered his rent, so that he would have the dignity of paying for their dates out. It didn’t matter to her but she strongly suspected that Elias was old-fashioned and would want to be the one to pay for everything. Silly, but she accepted things for what they were. Always the gentleman, he persisted in walking her home after their ‘dates’ and would give her a nod and a smile when he said goodbye.

Lacey sat in her downtown office. She had the Lacey French, Attorney at Law/Realtor sign hanging above her door. She had a part-time assistant, Ariel Lamer, who helped her with her books.

Ariel wasn’t there this particular morning. She was on her other job, working in the town’s only music shop. Lacey was alone in her office.

She was thinking about her relationship with Mr. Gold. The more time she spent with the man, the more attractive she found him. He was everything she wanted in a man – kind, gentle, thoughtful, a real gentleman. But he had been careful not to give her any sense of how he was feeling about her.  

They had quickly fallen into a routine. As Lacey gave the matter some thought, she realized that he would likely be content to continue with the once a week meals and the reduced rent. That might just be enough for him. But it wasn’t enough for Lacey.

No, she corrected herself, they had quickly fallen into a rut, a frustrating rut. She was going to have to be assertive again and let him know exactly what she wanted from him – and it certainly wasn’t a nod and a smile.  

_But she was beset with doubts. He actually might not be interested in her – that way. He could be taking more of a fatherly interest in her. He had never put his hand on her knee under the table at the diner. He had never tried to hold her hand or . . . cop a feel and certainly had never tried to kiss her. She didn’t want to pressure him into a more physical relationship, but she was damned sure that she wasn’t going to just sit around with her thumb inserted hoping that something would happen. And if it did turn out that he had similar feelings about her, she didn’t want to waste the time dancing around him._

_At worse, it would turn out that he wasn’t interested in her – which could be awkward and embarrassing but . . . it would be survivable; she’d certainly survived worse. At best . . . well, now that was a very interesting notion._

She decided that she would invite him to her house for Thanksgiving. Lacey lived in a dark Queen Anne house with a large front porch and two turrets. He had nervously accepted, used to spending holidays alone with only an old television set and a self-absorbed cat for company. It would be the first time he’d ever been in her house.

It was cold and crisp when he stepped through the gates onto the pathway that led up to the porch. Carrying his contribution to the meal, he stopped to look at the overly large ornate double mahogany front doors. He knocked but when there was no answer, he pushed on the door finding it open.

“Is that Elias?” he heard her call from back in the house.

“Yes, Miss French,” he answered.

“Come on in,” she told him coming out to greet him. He stepped inside and looked around with no small amount of awe at her lovely, luxurious home. Her tastes in furnishings were . . . eclectic?

As he walked into her living room, he gaped at the obvious wealth that surrounded him – hand carved wooden elements on the staircase, crown molding on the high ceilings and the occasional stained glass accent.   He turned in circles looking around himself. The place was beautiful and glowed with the underlying riches that had created it. He looked closer and thought he might have caught a glimpse of hardwood floors but these were all covered with multiple layers of overlapping oriental style rugs.   The walls in the room were covered with some rich thick fabric. There was a mix of textiles, voiles and velvets, sheers and Chantilly, covering her windows. He glanced up and thought that the ceiling tiles might have been punched tin. Miss French had several sofas and chairs covered with velvet or tapestried upholstery. On these were soft pillows and colorfully knitted mohair afghan throws. There were multiple differently styled light fixtures hanging down. In the living room she had a big fireplace (with gas logs). There were potted plants sitting all around. Everywhere was lace and fringe and embroidered silk. It was very pretty in a cluttered, overtly feminine kind of way. She was evidently a casual housekeeper and bits and pieces of her clothing that she had dropped were scattered all over the place. He gave a brief thought to the matter, _I’m glad I’m not the one picking up after her._

He followed his hostess into the kitchen.

This proved to be another sensual experience. The walls were weathered pale pink painted clapboard. There were large blue and white diamonds set as floor tiles. The table was painted a weathered white with a couple of metal stools and colorfully painted mis-matched wooden chairs. There was a large pink refrigerator and an oven that looked like something that might have been installed in the 30’s _but more likely were expensive reproductions_. There were shelves all over the walls filled with her cookbook collection and a variety of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. More lighting fixtures. More plants (many of these he recognized as culinary herbs).

Lacey, dressed in one of her super-short skirts and too-high heels, had put a poufy apron on over herself to preserve her clothing. She had put up her hair but in the flurry of activity and heat of the kitchen, strands of hair had escaped and curled up around her face. She had put on some lipstick and several layers of mascara. She smiled at him as she bent over the oven. “Take a seat,” she told him.

As he did that he heard a loud thudding sound and turned to be confronted by three large dogs that had rushed over each other in their haste to get into the kitchen to check out the interloper.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed as the dogs charged in and quickly came over to try to corral them. “How did you babies get in? Just stand still Elias and you should be all right.” She was moving the collect the animals but Gold had already sat down in a chair and was greeting each animal. They were jumping around and shoving each other out of the way to get to him, each one more eager than the others to get his attention. He was ruffling necks and patting heads and telling each dog what a good dog they were.

Lacey pulled back. “I don’t understand. They aren’t the best guard dogs, but they aren’t particularly friendly around strangers. They’re acting like they know you.”

He shrugged, giving the border collie an extra pat. “What can I say? Animals like me.”

Lacey took a moment to introduce the dogs. There was Daisy, a sweet tempered golden retriever, Magic, a cautious and sturdy black lab and Pepper, a black and white speckled border collie. The dogs seemed content to sit close to him.

“Odd,” she had told him shaking her head. “They don’t usually take to strangers.” But they did seem to like Elias.

Lacey had gone traditional, preparing a turkey breast with dressing, rice and gravy. Elias had brought some braised Brussel sprouts. Lacey realized that the man had a small cabbage patch outside the back door of his shop and this was likely some he had grown. She worked on preparing the food, with occasional happily cooperative sous chef assistance from Elias, who spent his time off his ankle sitting on one of the cushioned wooden chairs. Together they watched the television set that was set on a shelf in the kitchen, watching the Macy’s Parade and then the dog show while they prepared the meal.

“I was hoping the little Westie might win it this year,” he’d told her. “I wasn’t enamored of the winner at all.”

“Yeah, they often seem to pick the ugliest dog as the winner,” she agreed, sitting next to him on another one of the chairs.

When the meal was ready, he helped her carry food into her dining room and they had, by midafternoon, eaten their Thanksgiving feast there. The walls of this room were covered with dark wood wainscoting and rose-colored flocked patterned wallpaper. They had sat in her Chippendale chairs on the polished wooden floors, eaten from Wedgewood and drunk from Waterford. Gold had insisted on helping her clear and had separated the dishes into those that could be washed in the dishwasher and those that needed handwashing. Despite Lacey’s protestations, he rolled up his sleeves and dove into the hot soapy water to take care of the delicate dishes without a moment’s hesitation. They then re-adjourned to the living room to sit on one of the plump sofas in front of the fire and a wide-screen television.

Lacey brought out some pumpkin pie in the afternoon.

“What kind of wine should I serve with pumpkin pie?” she asked after she’d put it on a table in front of the man.

“A Riesling,” he responded without hesitating. _The man was a font of odd pieces of information._ When she looked at him with a bit of surprise, he gave a shy smile. “I own a bookstore. I read a lot and I’ve picked up a lot of stray, sometimes useful, information.”

She nodded and looked over her modest wine collection to pick one out.

It was after their third glass when he finally looked like he was relaxing.

“Tell me about your wife,” she asked him leaning back on the soft cushy sofa. He was sitting next to her, sitting upright, sitting stiffly.

“She was very beautiful and I thought myself the luckiest man in town when she accepted my proposal.”

“You were happy?” Lacey asked him.

“I think we were . . . at first. Then I was drafted. I didn’t do too well in basic training and they opted to assign me as an orderly to one of the officers. I would run errands for him, dial his phone for him, pick up after him, bring him coffee, lunch. I could to that. I don’t know that I would have been very good at fighting,” Gold confessed.

“The officer I was assigned to was no better, no worse, than any of the others. He told me one night that he had thought war would be glorious and exciting but he was finding it dirty and dull.

“So how were you injured?” she asked him, surprised and pleased that he was sharing such personal information.

“One night, there was a surprise attack. We were hit with artillery. There were explosions all around.   I was knocked down . . . and . . . I . . . I was knocked out. The next memory I have is coming to in a burning field. My ankle had been injured but I began to look for other survivors.” He paused a moment. “There was much smoke and fire. I kept tripping over . . . things . . . and bodies. Some were missing limbs and . . . heads or I would find . . . the missing . . . body . . . parts. Some . . . most . . . were men I knew, men I had been friends with. I . . . looked a long time, but could find no one alive . . .” his voice broke.

“I began to walk back the way we had come out. I had bound up my ankle as best I could. I knew I needed to see a physician . . . but there was no one. I was surprised I had remembered enough from our survival training to keep me alive. I had to walk for three days, drinking water out of ditches, eating roots and leaves. I finally made it back to the main camp.” Gold stared out for a long time without saying anything.

Lacey had listened with compassion. _This poor sensitive man. It must have been hell for him._

He finished up, “I got a medical discharge and returned here. When I got home, my wife was not glad to see me. I guess she had not planned on being married to a cripple. Our marriage became . . . difficult. She left soon after, taking our son with her.”

There was another long pause.

“They were killed in a car accident,” he said softly.

“I’m so sorry,” Lacey leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee.

“I’m ashamed to say I don’t miss my wife, but my child . . . my child is another matter entirely. The pain never lessens, never goes away, never, never . . . . He was only eight.”

“I can’t imagine,” Lacey told him. And she moved over to hold the man. She couldn’t tell but she thought he might be crying.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled back from her, wiping his face. “I didn’t mean to bring everything down.”

“Well, I asked you about your past . . . and what’s Thanksgiving without a little drama?” She gave him a thin smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Why do seek my company?” he asked her. “I know I’m not special in any way. I’m not especially attractive. I’m not rich. I’m not clever.”

“I think you’re very attractive and very clever. You’re not rich, that part is true, but that’s true for a lot of people. So what? I can help with that. Besides, even if your finances never change, I’m rich enough for both of us.”

“If you say. But I still don’t understand. Why me?”

It was Lacey’s turn to hesitate. “I’ve not always had things easy. My mother died when I was six and my dad never quite recovered. He started drinking and . . . and his new business partner . . . . he would often come over and drink with him. He would drink with my father until my father passed out. And then the friend would come to check on me.”

“Miss French?” Gold had a sense where this was going.

“At first, he would just sit on the side of my bed. Then he began to pat and stroke me.” Lacey seemed detached as if she was telling about something that had happened to someone else. “It took him nearly three months, but he ended up in my little bed with me, telling me how special I was, that he loved me.”

Lacey was sitting very still. “I was eleven when he got around to raping me. I believed him when he told me that what we were doing was so extra special. I went along with it when he took me to get a shot so I wouldn’t get pregnant.”

“How long? How long did this go on?” Gold asked her.

“I guess I was sixteen when he set his sights on another child, a younger girl, and began to shut me out.”

“My god, five years! So what happened?”

Lacey didn’t immediately respond. When she did, she spoke in a slow steady voice. “I was nineteen and working as his assistant in the family business. I know, I know, but the money was good and I was learning a lot about managing property and buying and selling land. And, remember, I had never known any other kind of life. It was Thanksgiving. He had been over drinking with my father that evening watching a football game. It was sleeting and icing and I had heard some reports that road conditions weren’t safe for driving. They had become very bad and people were being advised to stay off the roads unless there was an emergency.”

She took a drink of her wine and continued, “I told him that he’d gotten a phone call from one of his new little friends. Her parents weren’t home and she was scared. He decided to drive over there.” Lacey took another sip. “I guess the combination of high blood alcohol levels and really bad road conditions was too much. He drove off into a ditch and died.”

Gold sat back and looked at the woman. “Sad story,” he finally said.

“I figured his poor judgement that night likely saved a number of little girls their innocence,” Lacey told him. “He was a monster.”

Gold nodded. He raised his hand to brush against her hair.

“I realized that I could choose to be miserable or choose to be strong.  I decided I would be strong, that I would never be anyone’s victim again,” she told him. “I continued working and putting my money where my father couldn’t get at it. When he died, when the alcohol finally caught up with him, he left me a dilapidated flower shop which I had to sell to settle his debts. But I still had my own money and I went to school, got my law degree, and I began to really study investing and . . . well, I live here now,” she gestured around her. “I drive a Miata and I have a seven figure portfolio.”

Gold took another sip of wine. “So we’ve both lived with a lot of grief and pain. Is that what we have in common?”

“Perhaps. When I look at you I see a survivor,” Lacey told him. “But I also see someone who is strong, stronger than he knows. I especially see someone who will be gentle and take his time with me. I need that. It’s hard for me to trust people but I think I could learn to trust you. Somehow I . . . I . . . feel . . . safe with you.”

Gold did not answer. He slowly took her by both arms, turning her so that she was facing him on the sofa. “I’d like to kiss you,” he told her.

“Wonderful,” she told him and lifted her face to his.

At first their lips just touched together. They separated and came back together. He adjusted his position, turning towards her as they sat together on her sofa. He put his hands on her arms and slowly pulled her back to him. This time when he leaned in and their lips touched together, Gold began kissing her with some energy and enthusiasm, nudging her mouth open and slipping his tongue inside, just to touch the rim of her lips, not to overwhelm her. Lacey hadn’t expected initiative from the man and she was thrilled. Without even realizing it, she suddenly realized that he was pulling down the sleeves of her blouse over her shoulders.   He was now kissing down her neck, his lips and teeth teasing the tender flesh, the vulnerable tissue of her throat. His lips were firm and hot, oh so hot, yet she shivered wherever he touched her.

She moaned and he pulled back, obviously concerned that he had hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“I’m all right. That was excellent,” she told him.

“This is astonishing,” he told her. “Miss French, you must know that I’m so much older than you . . .”

He might have gone on, but Lacey put her hand over his. “You must call me Lacey. And the age difference is just a number.”

And they kissed together more, tenderly, softly, but no more than kissing.

_And it seemed very right . . . and somehow familiar._

It was late when Gold finally walked back to his own home.  For the first time in a long time, he wore a smile on his face. 

 


	13. By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina encounters frustration.  
> Lacey and Gold reach a new level in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, after the pain and anguish in the last chapter, this one takes a turn and is mostly fluff and smut.

Regina was sitting in her mayoral office. It had been done in shades of black and white, steel and marble, sharp shadows and black corners, a cold, hard place. She loved it. She felt it reflected her inner self and intimidated people.

But at the moment she was not happy.

Things were beginning to happen.

Things were not supposed to be happening.

Things were supposed to remain the same. This was, after all, her happy ending.

But things were happening. Belle, well-to-do but desperately lonely, was now connecting with that damned Spinner. There should never have been a change in their relationship. But Regina knew they were having supper together once a week.

She wondered what else might be going on between the two.

_She suspected that back in the Enchanted Forest they had been lovers. Belle had never admitted to such, but it had been quite obvious, although Regina could never see the appeal either one would have had for the other. Yet there was that special way the two looked at each other, not to mention that Belle had been willing to trade the final secret to making The Curse work for information regarding the man. Oh, they had definitely been lovers._

And now it looked like they were heading in that direction again. Both Belle and the Spinner had warned her that they would find each other, that there was no curse that could keep them apart.

Regina was not happy.

This was not how The Curse was supposed to work.

Her secretary rang her.

“What?!” she asked.

“Your ten o’clock appointment is here -- Mr. Forrest from the fire department,” Rory reminded her.

“Probably just to ask for more funds for that useless operation. There hasn’t been a fire in town since . . . ever.” _Still, Mr. Forrest was easy on the eyes. He had gently spurned her previous attempts at a liaison, but perhaps he might re-consider, especially if she could be a bit more clear in attaching funding to her offer._ “Let him in.”

Robert always entered a room like a breath of fresh air, bringing with him the energies of good health and a clean conscience.

“Mayor Mills,” he greeted her warmly.

“Now, Robert, haven’t we progressed to a first name basis?” she asked him, nearly purring and coming around from her desk so that they could sit in chairs opposite each other.

“When we’re out of this office perhaps. But when I’m here in my official capacity as Fire Chief, I think we should remain formal,” he told her.

Regina chose her words carefully. “But . . . perhaps . . . if we had a closer relationship, there might be some . . . added recompense, a more careful consideration for some of your department requests.”

Robert looked at her and slowly smiled. “Mayor Mills, I’m sure I’m misunderstanding you. It sounds like you are willing to trade, uh, ‘a closer relationship’ for favorable considerations for some of my department requests. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. It sounds kinda like taking bribes.”

Regina sat up in disappointment. _So the bear scout was not going to play ball. Well damn, she’d have to try another tact with him._

“Of course I wasn’t suggesting anything like that,” she told him pulling herself up. “I just thought if we were friendlier then these negotiations would remain . . . friendly,” she finished lamely.

“I think, Mayor Mills, that we are friendly enough to keep these negotiations civil and progressing,” the Fire Chief told her. “Now, let me show you some of this information I have on our equipment, so that you can present it to the town council.” At this point he pulled out some charts and graphs and other boring stuff and Regina’s mind numbed over as she listened to him earnestly droning on. _It would have been so much more pleasant to have spent the afternoon with one of them bent over her desk, preferably her._ She plastered a smile on her face and nodded at him from time to time as if she was taking in his presentation.

\+ + + + + +

It was mid-December and Rent Day was again upon them. Gold was ecstatic. He was going to be able to present Lacey with his full rent and the additional funds to pay for November’s shortage – and pay back the original forty she had loaned him for their first ‘date.’

Lacey had helped him keep track of his books and his funds and she already knew that he was going to be able to pay his current (reduced) rent and have the additional funds to pay for the shortage from November. _She’d been prepared to forgive him the shortage but he had insisted._ She met him at the bookstore, showing up with the silver bowl, a bottle of red wine and a take-out pan of Granny's lasagna, along with a salad and some buttered, toasted bread. She had also brought a box of celebratory fudge. Instead of coffee or tea, the two toasted each other with the wine.

They shared the meal sitting at one of his little tables next to one of his front shop windows.

“This is wonderful,” he told her. “I’m usually not a fan of Granny’s lasagna, but having it here, in this company . . . well, it’s sooo much better.”

“I thought so,” she smiled at him. _What was it about this man that attracted her? He was so quiet and self-effacing. It had taken her two weeks of steady courting to get him to kiss her. And so far, that was all they had done._

_But he was a really good kisser._

_Even if he persisted in calling her Miss French instead of Lacey._

Gold did share that he had gotten a Romance Book Club going – they had already had one meeting. Ms. Blanchard had jumped at the opportunity – they had been rotating homes but his place was much nicer and what would he think about getting a license to sell wine. The Fiber Society had also expressed interest in meeting at his place but he hadn’t got that off the ground just yet. They’d also shared an interest in having wine.

He had gone ahead and applied for the license to sell wine.

After his second glass of wine and two pieces of the fudge, Gold also shyly shared that he actually was projecting to have a little left over this month and was thinking, what would she think about, would it be a good idea, what should he do, perhaps invest it somewhere, somewhere safe, with a guaranteed, if modest, return?

Lacey assured him that she had a couple of ideas and, by the way, beginning a wine bar was an excellent idea -- also maybe consider that refrigerator case for some cheesecake (women, she told him, liked cheesecake).

He shook his head, unnerved at the idea of expanding.

“Really, Elias? I’ve run your sales receipts. Your coffee shop is pulling in as much business as your bookstore. It has the potential to take off.”

“But I don’t have the time to run both,” he protested.

“So you hire a high school kid or a bored housewife for minimum wage or trade work for books. It will not only pay for itself, but make you money,” Lacey assured him.

He looked at her, worried, so unsure of himself. “You really think so?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she told him. She got up. “If you move this display table over here, you can put in three, four, maybe five more two-seater tables. You could sell some cookies, maybe even consider some simple sandwiches when it gets warmer – give Granny some competition.” She was walking around his darkened shop, exuberantly talking about plans for expansion. She was talking about the future . . . their future.

“Miss French, I don’t know. I know you have to spend money to make money, but I’ve lived from month to month for so long. I just don’t know.”

Lacey sat back down in front of him, her eyes shining. “Why don’t you make me your partner?” she asked him. “We’d go for an eighty-twenty split. I’d be the twenty, the junior partner, the silent partner.”

Gold was stunned. “Well . . . uh . . .”

“If the eighty-twenty isn’t good for you, I could go with a ninety-ten split.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed to get out.

“It would mean you wouldn’t have to pay rent to me anymore. I could take my twenty percent and invest it. You know I have a knack for investments.”

Gold was not sure how to reply. Being relieved of the financial stresses would be a great weight off and he certainly didn’t object to any activity that put him in Miss French’s company. She certainly had a lot of ideas for increasing his business. _And she certainly was pleasant and enjoyable to be around._

“Well, think about it,” Lacey leaned over and took his hand. He didn’t pull away.

Sitting in the darkness of his shop, the two relaxed with each other, drinking glass after glass of the potent wine. It was already dark outside and the street was lit by a single streetlamp that splayed light across his storefront, the light reflecting off the fog coming in from the ocean several blocks away. It was Lacey who noticed it, tiny sparkling flakes at first, but quickly becoming large fat, wet flakes, showing up in the streetlight outside the shop.  

“Oh my goodness, it’s snowing! It’s snowing hard!” she exclaimed getting up to go to his window to see the snow which had already begun to cover the ground, streets and sidewalks of the town.

“This is unexpected! I’ve been so busy I haven’t checked the forecast in several days,” he said, coming to stand behind her and look out the window.

“I’m going to need to head back home right now,” Lacey told him.

“Miss French,” Gold cautioned her. “You aren’t dressed to go out in this.” He looked her over. “You have opened toed shoes and no coat. I could lend you a coat but my boots would be much too big for you.”

“If I hurry, I should be able to make it,” she told him, waving off his concerns while she prepared to go out in the harsh weather.

“No,” he told her firmly. “I wouldn’t want you to risk yourself, especially when there is no reason to.”

“But I should be fine.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’ve had a lot to drink and you’re not dressed for the weather. It’s too great a risk. You will stay here.” He took her into The Backroom. She had never been in this part of his shop before.

“This is where you live?” she asked him. It was neat, clean and tidy but sparse and barren. The wooden floor extended into this part of the structure, but back here, the floor had been covered by several threadbare rugs. Along one wall was the kitchen with a mini-fridge, a double-burner stove top, a counter and a sink. There was a small table and single chair. In the back was the bathroom with a toilet and a shower. Along the other wall was a small closet, a smaller cabinet and an old-fashioned black cast iron bed covered with a sheet with a neatly folded blanket at the bottom. Near the bed facing the center of the room was a plain black old-fashioned wood stove. There was a back door that went out onto a small screened-in porch.

“Yes, it saves on additional rent and I don’t have far to walk to my shop. It’s warm and suits me well,” he told her. “You can have the bed.”

“But if I sleep there, where will you sleep?” she asked him suspiciously.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he assured her, avoiding eye contact.

She looked hard at him. “The only other place there is to sleep in this shop is the floor. I’ll not be having you sleep on the floor,” she told him.

“Bu . . . but . . . otherwise, we’d have to share the bed and . . . and . . . it’s barely big enough for one. Miss French,” he appealed to her. “I know we’ve kissed a lot and touched . . . some. I’m not sure . . . what are you thinking? . . . I mean, if I were to share this bed with you . . . . Perhaps you can sleep under the covers and I’ll sleep on top?“ He was still not making eye contact.

“I’d like to have us both under the covers.” Lacey approached him and looked up at him, directly into his soft brown eyes. “I’m prepared that we’ll have difficulties keeping our hands off each other and likely my lady parts will be coming into contact with your manly parts and I don’t see a problem with that,” she finished for him. She smiled slowly at him. “Elias,” she began soberly. “I don’t want you to feel coerced or unduly influenced or in any way that I’m pressuring you about this. But we’re grown-ups, darling. I’m ready to move to the next level, but if you’re not, I understand. I will respect and accept that, and we’ll do the split cover thing.”

Not quite believing what he was hearing _This beautiful woman couldn’t possibly want him as a. . ._ “Miss French, are you saying you _want_ us to . . . to . . .?”

She reached for him and kissed him again. “I absolutely want to . . . to,” she told him, repeating his nervous words. “You do like me, don’t you?” she asked and watched him nod nervously. “Good, because I like you, maybe more than like you . . . a lot.”

“Let me assure you, Miss French,” Gold began slowly, locking eyes with her. “I find you beautiful, intelligent, excellent company, perhaps a trifle scary, and I also like you . . . maybe more than like you . . . a lot,” he confessed.

Encouraged, she gently put her hands up to unknot his tie and pull it off. Next she busied herself with unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt. She began to tug on his jacket, pulling it off and then was able to remove the vest. She ran her hands up under his shirt and began to work this off of him.

“You can help, if you like,” she told him, leaning in to kiss him over his nipple.

Slow Elias Gold might be, but this invitation was quite clear. In short order, he had gotten her blouse unbuttoned and was now working on the fastenings of her bra. Shoes were getting toed off. Clothes were dropping on the floor.

Lacey was thrilled that her shy, retiring shopkeeper had managed to pull off her blouse and her bra before she had even realized what he was trying to do. They were by now locked in each others embrace, kissing, licking, touching.

“Wait,” Gold suddenly pulled back.

“What?” Lacey didn’t like the interruption and was both dazed and irritated when he stepped back from her.

“Did the lights just blink off and on?” he asked.

“I didn’t notice.” _And she hadn’t noticed, she had been very focused on the taste and feel and smell of the man. If the lights had blinked off she’d assumed it was all part of the entire sensory experience._

“We’re about to lose electricity. Wait here,” he told her and stepped away. He paused a moment, returned to her and kissed her quickly on the lips.   “I’ll be right back.”

Lacey waited in the little backroom, mostly undressed. She decided this was a good moment to remove her leggings and by the time he returned, she was wearing only her little lacy panties.

“It’s a little cold,” she told him, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms with her hands.

“It’s going to get colder,” he told her and this time she saw the lights blink off and on again. He was carrying some candlesticks with candles placed in them. He put them down on the small counter top and then went to her to hand her the plain cotton blanket off of his bed. He then returned to the candles and lit them. Finally he went over to the wood stove and lit the paper under the logs that were already set in place.

Still crouched down, he looked up at her, his eyes flicking down and up. She was standing on one of his little threadbare rugs with the blanket wrapped around herself. He was still wearing his pants, socks and shoes and his unbuttoned shirt. “I’ll be back in one moment to help you get warm,” he promised. He stepped out the back door and brought in a couple of logs of wood. “I keep a small stash under cover outside the back door. I can’t afford a generator and if the electricity goes out, I depend on the wood for heat,” he explained. He set the logs in a metal container next to the oven, checking out the progress of the fire. Satisfied, he turned back to her.

“Extra blankets,” he told her then and he fetched two more from the small cabinet near the bed. He laid them on the bed. “Come, Miss French,” he held out his hand to her and she sat on the bed next to him. He leaned over and removed his socks. He stood and with just a little help from her, unfastened his belt and dropped his pants. As he gently pushed her back onto the cot, the lights flickered again and then went out.

The room was now lit only by two flickering candles and the glint of the fire through the door of the old cast iron stove.

“Wow,” she said. “Candlelight and firelight. How romantic.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way when the temperature drops to forty in here,” he told her.

Watching her, he lay down on his side next to her. Their bodies were pushed together by the narrow width of the bed. He took one last moment to be sure. “You want this?” he asked her. “Really, really want this?”

“I do,” she told him. “Really, really.”

The next thing she felt were his warm hands on her hips. He hooked his thumb inside her panties and persistently pulled off the last piece of clothing she had on. Her panties were dropped over the side of the bed. He watched her face in the dim light as he slowly felt his way around her curves, caressing her butt, lingering over the sensitive area in the small of her back. He then traced his way back, up to her waist and moved his hands so that they were under her breasts, his fingers reaching up and around, learning the delicate texture of her skin. Her nipples were so swollen they nearly hurt, a tender pain that was resolved when he took a moment to drop his mouth to her. She could feel his lips, his tongue, even the grazing of his teeth and she couldn’t stop herself from crying out when his mouth latched on and tugged. Lacey was torn, wanting to luxuriate in his sensual touching and wanting to explore his body with her hands. It was too much for her. She ineffectually tried to reach down to remove his boxers, but needed help from him to get them off. He pushed her onto her back and went back to spending his time touching her.

_Somehow this all felt right. Like they had been together before, often before and for a long time before. He felt like he knew exactly where and how to touch her and she knew what he liked her to do to him._

“You are so soft, so smooth,” he muttered as his fingers continued to explore her, sure on her cool body. He continued to kiss her, his lips firm and warm, hot against her, often making demands of her – “open your mouth for me,” “turn your head so I can kiss this little point where your neck joins your shoulder.” She felt tingly, her skin hypersensitive, her body receptive.

He dropped a hand between her legs and lay on his side so that he could watch her while he gently explored her most vulnerable recesses. His fingers traced around her sweet spot, teasing, circling. Lacey did not remember ever being with any man so familiar with a woman’s body – others had seemed to fumble and (often) flounder, but Elias knew where all the parts were . . . and how to touch and stroke and tease and . . . . Lacey wasn’t expecting anything so fast and the quick, hard orgasm caught her by surprise. She lifted her body to his hands, turning into him, jerking, spasming as she broke, drenching his hand. He pulled her to him, holding her, allowing her some time to come down from her response.

“I . . . I wasn’t expecting that,” she managed to tell him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“It was very beautiful. You were beautiful,” he whispered to her. “I like knowing I can touch you and make you come for me.”

“More please,” she looked up at him.

He was about to kiss her again when he suddenly froze, remembering, “I don’t have a condom.”

“You’ll think I’m a slut, I know, but I’ve been carrying some since that first time we went out to the diner,” she told him breathlessly.

“Sure of yourself?” he had to ask.

“Just hopeful, very hopeful,” she confessed and managed to reach over into her purse to pull out one of several little foil packets.

“And you are absolutely sure about this?” he had to ask her one more time, now, when they stood on the precipice.

“Uh huh,” she nodded and reached for his hardened cock. Her fingers, little but strong and sure, locked around the velvety shaft before he could protest. Her thumb grazed the head, wet with his own readiness, and he groaned.

“I can’t take much of this, Miss French,” he told her. “Another time perhaps . . . definitely. He laid his hand on her wrist and gently broke her gentle grasp. His normally whiskey-brown eyes had gone almost entirely black.

“Then let me put on the condom,” she asked him.

“Again, another time,” he told her and taking it from her, he slipped it on himself.

Lacey had always thought of herself as slow to respond, even unresponsive, but this man, this evening, was making a lie of that. Still planting little kisses on her lips, her face, her throat, he managed to shift her under him, settling between her legs and propping up on an elbow, used the other hand to line himself up. She was ready, ready, more than ready and he slipped in very, very slowly.

“Give me a moment,” she pleaded with him as his bulk expanded her, filled her. “I. . . you’re . . . I need a moment, please.” _It had been longer than she realized and her body wasn’t used to such intimacy. Older, uglier memories tried to bubble up, but she managed to push them down. She was with him. She was safe. He would take care of her._

It took her a moment but soon enough she began to lift her hips and he tacitly understood.

She was ready.

After kissing her again softly, having given her time to accept him, time to adjust, he then pulled away, very, very slowly. Several times he did this, each movement very slow and then he followed up with a single hard thrust. Then again, very, very slowly there were several shallow strokes, followed this time by two hard, deep thrusts. He continued with the varying pattern, slow followed by hard and fast, shallow and deep, decreasing, increasing, three hard strokes, then slow, slow and shallow over and over, then four hard strokes, then on and on. Lacey was holding onto him, relishing the delicious feel of the length and width of the man, filling her, but she was wanting more of the harder thrusts. She realized that the slow thrusts were heightening her response, making her want more, making her reach harder, making her coil tighter in anticipation. She had been holding onto him but then he pulled her hands apart, holding them on each side of her head. Not being able to touch him, to hold him, only to accept him, she began to feel incredibly warm and receptive and helpless and her body finally reached a summit and she went over, crying out, her body tightening around his and he couldn’t stop himself, spilling into the condom, shouting out and then collapsing. He released his grip on her wrists and Lacey wrapped herself around him.

Both of them were sweating despite the chill that had already begun to fill the room. They clung to each other. Elias managed to lift his head and look at Lacey. “I need to roll off you, I’m sure, but it feels so . . .”

“Good,” she finished for him. “I like how you feel inside of me,” she told him. He touched his lips to hers again, tasting sweat and sweet Lacey. He supported his weight on his elbows for a moment and then lifted himself off of her.

As he rolled to the side, they were both pushed precariously to the sides of the bed, the width not quite up to accommodating two adults lying on their backs.

“Maybe we can spoon?” she suggested.

“I’m the big spoon,” he told her and rolled to his side and helped her turn her back to him. Lacey quickly realized that this gave the man access to her tender breasts and . . . and other vulnerable parts of her body. They fell asleep with him holding her close.

It must have been early, very early. There was no working clock and the room was still dark except for the embers. Lacey wasn’t sure exactly why she had awakened but soon realized that Elias was still cupping one of her sensitized breasts in his hand, tweaking and teasing the nipple. He was muttering in her ear how soft and perfect she was, how delightful she was. She wasn’t even sure if the man was awake but she couldn’t deny the magic his fingers were creating. It was gentle torture and she bit her lip to allow it; however, when the same hand dropped between her legs and began to rub tiny circles, pressing and exploring, she knew she wouldn’t last. She began to wiggle and moan.

_She had come very nicely twice, not that long ago. How could her body possibly be ready again?_

“Elias, I don’t know . . . I mean, you’re going to make me . . . oh, please,” she managed to mutter at him, realizing she was not making sense.

When he began to kiss her, pressing hot kisses along the sensitive column of her neck, she began to tremble. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, his voice, his breath yet another source of sensuous stimulation. He was moving so slowly but it felt so good. He tilted her forward and she heard the split of a foil wrapper. A moment later he surged into her. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed herself. He didn’t tire, he didn’t relent and soon enough, she came undone for him; this time experiencing a third long, slow orgasm that welled up and made her shiver across her entire body. She felt a sudden burst of _something_ abruptly coming from her body, somewhere _down there._

“Oh god!” she managed to say. “Did I just pee? I’m so sorry?”

“No darling. That wasn’t pee,” and she knew he was smelling his fingers. “You . . . uh. . . just kinda squirted a little on my fingers,” he kissed her neck again.

“I _ejaculated_?” she asked him amazed, embarrassed, confused. “I never. . . I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Well, thank you,” he told her sleepily and pulled her back into him. “I’m rather flattered.”

And the two went back to sleep, snuggling under the blankets, using body heat to stay warm as the temperatures dropped to near freezing, his arms still firmly wrapped around her.


	14. Wisely and Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey and Elias continue developing their relationship and make an important decision together. Elias begins to get feedback from the townspeople about his relationship with Miss French.

The cat landed on them.

By no means a light weight, Kari’s abrupt arrival startled both Lacey and Gold into wakefulness. The cat began to walk across them, alternately purring and mewing. She patted Gold’s eyes when he didn’t open them. Then meowed loudly. Then patted his eyes again.

He groaned. The light (and heat) had remained off during the night and into the next morning and the air in the room was decidedly chilly. Reluctantly, still enjoying the effect of Lacey’s perfect, ripe butt pressing into his “manly parts,” Elias opened his eyes and pulled away from her.

“She’s hungry and she won’t stop bothering us until she’s fed,” he told Lacey and, wrapping one of the blankets around himself, he rose to put more wood into the belly of the oven and open a can of food for the increasingly indignant cat. He went out to the front of the shop and looked out the window. He saw that snow was continuing to come down, heavy and hard. _Well, they’d have all that around until spring thaw. He guessed it made up for the unseasonably warm weather they’d been having._ He estimated a couple of inches had already fallen during the night. The storm did not show any signs of abating.

“We’re stuck here,” he told her crawling back onto the narrow bed to again snuggle with Lacey. “Will your dogs be all right?”

She didn’t open her eyes, just stretched a little. “They can get onto the back porch and they have dog beds there. They’ll pile on each other. They have some dry food and some water so they should be all right at least for a day. I’ll start to worry about them if I have to stay away much longer.”

She managed to turn over so that she was on her back. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Any regrets?” he asked her, concern marking his face.

She nodded. “I wish I had gotten into your bed a lot sooner.”

He managed a weak smile. He wove his fingers into her hair. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“I’m not so much of a catch,” Lacey told him. “Haven’t you heard that I’m a mean, grasping, unforgiving bitch? I’m the landlady who throws people out of the street if they can’t pay their rent. I’d tear up a children’s playground to build an ugly strip mall. I’d . . .” she stopped talking when he put his finger on her lips.

“You’re not so dark, Miss Landlady. You want people to think you are, but really you’re the kind of woman who looks out for strays, who buys meals for impoverished bookstore owners, who puts parks into city blocks for little children.”

It was Lacey’s turn to put her finger on his lips. “Shh, I don’t want my secret to get out.”

“Well, I’ll never tell,” he promised her. He looked around the grey room. “What would you say to pancakes for breakfast? I’m pretty sure I have the ingredients.”

“Pancakes sound wonderful,” Lacey told him. “You can cook?” She sat up, the sheet and blanket clutched around her.

“Gas stove,” he told her, admiring the curve of her back and tracing his fingers down her arm.

“No, I mean, you can cook?” _She wasn’t as surprised at the availability of cooking facilities as she was of his cooking skills._ “I’ve only ever known you to make . . . coffee.”

“I can cook . . . some things. I make soup. I have a great roast chicken. I can make bread from scratch, and I make an excellent chocolate cake,” he told her. “I just don’t have the time.”

“Well, what a catch you are,” she told him, lying back down and squirming in next to him.

He sighed _much preferring to lie in bed with her all day_ but then sat up next to her. “Listen, it’s very tempting to stay here with you all day, but I’ve got some things that are pressing. I think I may have some clothes that you can borrow.” He got out the narrow bed and went into the cabinet. “Here are some sweat pants that may work for you and I’ve got a long-sleeved tee-shirt you can wear and a sweater.” He tossed them over to her.

“Perfect,” Lacey told him, slipping the clothes on while still in the bed. “How about some socks?”

He nodded and tossed her a pair. He disappeared into his small bathroom briefly and when he returned he had dressed himself in similar attire, sweatpants, long-sleeved tee, a sweater and some socks. Lacey watched him move around in the kitchen. Even with his limp, he managed to move gracefully, getting out the ingredients, bowls and frying pan to make the pancakes. Lacey reluctantly slipped from the warmth of the bed and got up, coming over to help.

He was standing in front of his double-burner stove top. Underneath it sat the fridge, a very efficient arrangement. He was working on the small table and mixing up the eggs, flour, salt and milk, while he heated some butter in the frying pan. “You look like you’re on top of things,” Lacey told him. “Can I bring in some more wood?”

“You’ll need boots. Slip mine on. They’re by the door,” he told her. She did so, her feet sliding around in the too large boots but she was still able to walk and her feet were protected from the dampness. She went out his back door.

The snow was already nearly a foot deep and continuing to come down. He had a covered area where he had stacked logs. It was next to a small sheltered raised garden bed that he had covered with a cold frame. She brushed the snow off the frame and peeked inside. Green things, cabbages, carrots, maybe broccoli were all peeking out. She closed things up and picked out a few logs to carry in, taking off the boots and walking around in only the socks once inside.

Several pancakes were already done and he had plated them.

She picked up a jug he had set on the table. “Real maple syrup?” she remarked.

“Living in Maine has its perks. It’s not hard to get,” he told her. “I worked out a deal with someone.”

“Nice.” She looked around and realized there was only one chair at the table so she fetched a second one from the bookstore. It was dark and very cold in the store proper.

She sat down at the table and he soon joined her for breakfast.

“I always want to eat a lot when it’s snowy,” he told her.

“It’s never actually happened to me before, but I think I may be one of those people who like to eat a lot after satisfying sex,” she told him, touching his ankle with her toes causing him to sit up straight.

“Miss French,” he cautioned her. “One thing at a time, please.”

She scrunched her nose at him, but did withdraw her foot and concentrated on her meal.

They put the dishes in his small sink and he began to boil water so that they could wash them.

Lacey wrapped her arms around him from behind as he worked cleaning the dishes. She still thought the man too thin but he was sturdy enough. And working with his shirt sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the soapy water, he somehow managed to look sexy as hell. Lacey dropped her hands to his crotch and brushed her fingers against him.

Yes, he was interested . . . again.

He turned and backed her up against the table. She felt him lift her up and set up down. She was able to wrap herself around him. There was kissing and hands reaching up under clothing and then he stopped.

“Condom,” he told her, breaking the mood. The two held onto each other. Lacey’s pocketbook was across the room out of reach for Lacey who was perched on the table and a long way for the crippled shop keeper to go. They looked at her pocketbook and then looked at each other. They then began laughing.

“Maybe we should take to carrying a couple on our persons to be ready for just such occasions,” Gold suggested.

Lacey nodded, “Maybe I should get an appointment and get on some other kind of birth control,” she suggested.

“That would be excellent,” he agreed and helped her down from the table, the romance totally dissipated for the moment.

“It wouldn’t have helped to have my pocketbook nearby anyway,” she confessed. “I had only packed two of . . . them.”

Gold quickly replayed the previous night and realized . . .

“Well, I didn’t want to appear too much of a trollop,” Lacey told him.

He gave her a slow smile. “Well, there are other things we could do.”

And her stomach flipped over as the possibilities began to play through her head.

Lacey tried to refocus herself, realizing that they would be stuck in the shop all day. Gold went ahead and began making a bean and cabbage soup, knowing it would need to cook for a good part of the morning. He had Lacey chop up some onions and carrots, making the odd comment despairing her poor knife skills.    

Once that was done, for something (else) to do, Lacey helped him clean the place, dusting and sweeping, putting books back into their proper place.

“You know, if you opened up the area that serves as your apartment, you’d have the perfect place for a little coffee and wine bar.”

“Perhaps. I’d have to hire someone to manage the place and, oh yeah, I’d have to find somewhere else to live,” he told her with just a touch of asperity.

“Well, maybe,” Lacey began, then timidly asked, “It’s too early to have you move in with me, isn’t it?” She didn’t look at him, unsure of herself.

He didn’t answer right away. “Perhaps. What we have is very new and it may be very fragile. Miss French, we both have reasons why relationships are difficult for us. I’d like for us to take our time, being sure of things, not rushing it. It would make my life easier, but, well, I also don’t want people to talk about us, well, talk about you.”

“You _are_ old-fashioned aren’t you?” she asked him.

“I guess,” he answered. He thought about it. “Yes, I am.”

“I think I like it,” she told him. “I feel protected and . . . cherished with you, like I’m important, what I feel is important.”

“It is,” he said. “Of course it is.”

“And again, I think you really should begin to call me Lacey and not Miss French. I mean, you’ve had your hand . . . well, we’ve been as close as two people can be.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Very well . . . Lacey. It will take me a bit to get used to it,” he admitted.

It was mid-morning when Lacey suggested they take a break and get a cup of coffee. He thought this was a good idea but then found her standing in the darkened shop in front of his (useless) electric coffee maker. Gold chuckled and showed her how to make coffee with boiling water and a French press, apologizing for the impossibility of freshly ground beans. After pouring in the simmering water, he stirred the coffee slurry to bring out the flavor and let it steep, marking out three minutes before lowering the press.

They sat in front of the window in the same place they had enjoyed the lasagna and wine the night before. It had quit snowing and a harsh bright light shone through the window reflecting off the sheet of whiteness in front of the shop. They had only been sitting for a short while when they heard Leroy coming by with a heavy duty snow blower, clearing off the sidewalk. He frammed on the window to get their attention. “You ok in there?”

Gold had to smile. He got up and opened the door to his shop. “Leroy, I’m fine. Any idea when we’ll get power back?”

“Maybe in a day or two. Don’t really know,” Leroy answered and then went on with the snowblower.

Lacey had come up behind Gold. “We have to get back to my house. I have a generator and plenty of food. Plus I have my fur babies. It doesn’t hurt them to miss one meal but I wouldn’t want them to go much longer without food. We should move now before the sidewalk refreezes. We can bring your cat with us.”

Gold wasn’t sure about this but he knew Lacey was concerned about her dogs so he had to agree. He put on his rubber overshoes and his heaviest coat. He packed a small bag of toiletries and underwear and a couple of changes of clothes. He also packed some kitty litter.

“Will Kari let me carry her?” Lacey asked him.

“Maybe,” he told her and called the cat over. He picked up the big orange cat who purred and closed her eyes, happy to be held. Lacey petted her and Gold then shifted her into Lacey’s arms. The cat opened her eyes and, seeing it wasn’t Gold holding her, began to squirm.

“You’re going to have to carry her,” she told him, handing him back the irritated cat.

It was bitter cold. Lacey hurried along the slippery sidewalk, doing her best not to step in any snow drifts with her open-toed shoes. Gold followed closely behind, carrying his cat and his cane. Lacey had insisting on carrying everything else for him. From time to time, she would balance herself on his arm while one or the other negotiated a curb or stepped over a questionable patch of snow and ice. What was normally a fifteen-minute walk took them more than half an hour, but they did manage to arrive at Lacey’s house without falling or dousing themselves in any variation of icy water.

Once at her house, Gold put Kari down and the cat immediately disappeared into the large, messy house. Before she even changed her shoes, Lacey went onto the back sunroom and greeted her three large dogs. It did appear that during the snowstorm they had all hunkered down with each other in the sheltered area. Daisy, Magic and Pepper were all very happy to see Lacey but, once they spotted Gold, they abandoned her, rushing past her to jump around him.

“My dogs seem happier to see you than me,” she observed.

“What can I say?” he told her. “Animals love me.”

Lacey went on into the kitchen which was now tracked up with paw prints. She didn’t scold the dogs, knowing they were just happy to have her back with them again but didn’t object when Gold pulled out a mop to do a quick clean up.

“So you also clean?” she asked him, calling out to him while she went to turn on the emergency generator.

“Absolutely. I can mop floors, scrub bathtubs and, as you saw in the shop, run a duster over a place,” he told her with a smile.

“You realize you are looking more and more like the perfect man,” she told him returning to get the dogs fresh food and fresh water.

“I also hook up complicated electronic equipment, grill things outside and squish spiders. However, my Y chromosome does prevent me from putting toilet paper on the dispenser roll and that little light in the fridge blinds me so I can’t find anything in the fridge,” he confessed finishing up with the mopping.

Lacey was laughing as she started upstairs. “I’m going to change into some of my own clothes,” she called out to Gold. He understood and settled in her living room, turning on the propane powered fireplace logs that added additional heat to the room. He wasn’t sure where he would be sleeping and opted to leave his bag on the dining room table. Kari, he noted, had reappeared and seemed quite comfortable, finding a place of honor in one of Lacey’s velvet chairs. He watched, a bit anxiously, as one after the other, the dogs came in to check Kari out. The big marmalade queen received them royally, allowing each dog to sniff her while she watched disdainfully. They returned to Gold’s side after their audience with the cat.

When Lacey came down she had dressed in warm leggings with a loose fitting kimono top. She had combed out her shining chestnut hair and it fell down her around shoulders in ringlets. Gold looked at her, open-mouthed. She came and sat down next to him.

“Forget what I said about us not moving into together. I’m a complete and utter arse,” he told her and grabbed her, pulling her into him. Lacey wrapped her arms around him and with no reservations allowed him to kiss her senseless. He pulled her down onto one of the deep rugs on the living room floor and began removing her garments.

Delighted at his commitment, Lacey pushed him onto his back. She took the initiative, stroking him, then lowering herself and dropping her mouth onto him. She heard him gasp and then felt his fingers twining themselves into her hair.

“Lacey!” This was more than he expected. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the sensations her tongue and lips were giving him. He found it was hard to remember to breath.

“Lacey!” he called her again and pulled her off. “I’m getting too close.”

She reluctantly pulled herself off of him but promptly, holding onto him, put on a condom, then straddled him and lowered herself down.   He rested his hands on her hips to begin with but then slipped them up to cup both of her breasts as she began to ride him. He then dropped a hand to rest between them, increasing her pleasure and rapidly bringing her to a quick, hard peak. She nearly dropped onto him, dazed but somehow still aware that he was quite hard within her. He encouraged her, murmuring soft words, praising her.

“Come on, Miss Landlady,” he said to her. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Lacey began again, rocking and bobbing. ‘You got it Mister Shopkeeper,” she said to him and continued, relishing it when his body tightened, his hands gripped her harder, likely leaving bruises, and he gave her a hoarse shout, raising his hips and pumping into her.

There was a moment when all was quiet. Lacey collapsed off of him and rolled to one side. It was a while before she spoke.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked him lying next to him, sated.

“I’m not inclined to dismiss anything,” he told her slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes, it feels that I know you. I can’t explain it, but things between us seem so familiar, so easy. As if we’ve done them before.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking things over. “I do know that when I think back over the weeks before you came in my shop and offered me a deal on my rent, well, it was all a blur. It’s like I was a hamster in a cage, running and running and not getting anywhere.”

“I was feeling that way!” she agreed quickly. “Like every day had been repeating itself.”

“Odd,” he shared. “Jefferson said the same thing a while ago.”

“I don’t feel that way now. I feel like time is moving, the way it should,” Lacey told him.

\+ + + + + +

The lights came back on in three days. By that time, Gold had squashed his qualms about living with Lacey, and had completely moved in.   He began taking her advice about financial matters and, with reservations, had begun to buy himself a few things, like new clothes, with his increased spare funds. Lacey’s tastes were impeccable and she encouraged him to buy one or two really good suits rather than five cheaply made ones.

\+ + + + + +            

At the next gathering at the Rabbit Hole, Jefferson and Robert sat back and looked Gold over.

Jefferson toasted him first. “The man of the hour, taking one for the team with the delectable Miss French.”

“Have to admit, I’m proud of you, man,” Robert began. “A much younger woman, walking around with a smile on her face.” He then toasted Elias.

“You do seem to be getting on rather nicely with Miss French,” Jefferson nudged him.

“Gentlemen, I love both you guys, but I’d rather not discuss my relationship with Miss French, whatever it may be, in a bar,” Gold told them.

“So it’s serious?” Jefferson pursued.

“At least on my part,” Gold admitted.

Jefferson raised his beer, “Remember, I said from the start that you two would be good for each other. You both needed to have some starch taken out of your sails.”

Gold managed to nod agreement. Before Jefferson could suggest that they go back to his place so they could discuss the particulars of his relationship with Miss French, he turned to Robert. “Any progress on the new equipment forefront?” he asked.

Robert shook his head.   “I keep meeting with the Mayor, often enough that I have permanent butt prints on a chair in her office. I feel like I’m making the same presentation over and over. The bottom line is, if we have a major fire, those old decrepit hoses are going to burst under the water pressure.”

“What happens? What does she say?” Jefferson asked.

Robert pulled a face, “What you’d expect. Money is an issue. Other priorities take precedence.” Robert shook his head. “I can’t shake this feeling though that she’d get me the hoses if I . . . well,” Robert hesitated.

“Showed her your hose?” Jefferson asked.

Robert nodded, obviously embarrassed. “I like her, really. I know most people don’t and she’s treated a lot of folks like shit, but, well, Elias you know what it’s like to be involved with a woman with a dark side. I just don’t want a relationship with her that’s based on some tawdry . . . “ he wasn’t sure how to finish.

“Tit for tat?” Jefferson finished.   “Or is it more like tat for tit?”

Gold had to snigger, but after glaring at him, Robert continued, “I would ask her out, you know, on a real date, if I thought she’d accept without any ulterior motives. Just to have a good time, but I don’t know if she can put aside personal gain for . . . well, for anything else.”

“Hell, if Gold can wear down the Dark Lady French, I’ll give you odds on taking down the Evil Queen,” Jefferson encouraged him.

\+ + + + + +    

After seeing how his friends responded to his relationship with Miss French, Gold was still nervous about how this change of fortune would be viewed by the townspeople. Rather than berating him for being a gigolo _which is how he thought of himself,_ most of them would give him quick congratulations for mellowing out Miss French. Leroy had given him a double thumbs-up. The Colonel had shared a wink. Ruby had portioned out a knowing smirk and given him extra sour cream and butter on his weekly dinner date diner order. Several other bookstore customers had shared in hushed tones that Miss French had been a lot more lenient on loans and rent since he had taken up company with her. They felt that he might be responsible for her recent change of heart.

One such contact occurred very early one morning. Waiting for him to open up was the lovely Miss Blanchard who had come by his shop on her way to school. Gold opened to doors to her and, at her request, fixed her a double macchiato. She had come by to schedule the next Romantic Book Club meeting _and ask about the wine license_. She had been all bubbly, sharing that one of the comatose patients she had been reading to was beginning to stir and she was ever hopeful that he might be waking up. She’d also shyly shared that she thought he and Miss French made a nice couple. Gold had nodded at her enthusiasm and he was able to tell her that he was progressing in obtaining a license to sell wine. The request still had to go through the Mayor’s office, but he was hoping to have everything in place by the time of their next meeting. He’d asked her to poll her group for suggestions as to what wine he should carry. Mary Margaret then grabbed her coffee to go.

Before ten that same morning, Miss Marjorie from the Weaver’s Knot had been another one to come by to see him. He liked the older woman and she had always seemed to like him. His new relationship had quickly come up in their conversation.

“I confess I have been worried about what people might say about me, about Miss French,” he told her as he prepped her cup of hot cocoa.

“People should mind their own business. You two are adults. It would seem to me that you should take happiness whenever it comes your way,” she told him. “There will always be people who criticize and you can never please everyone.”

“But I’m an older man and she’s a young woman. There is also a difference in money.”

“What? You mean she has some? Don’t let a difference in money get in your way, darling. Love, love is the only important thing.”

“You are a romantic, Miss Maggie,” he told her smiling.

“I am, and proud of it,” she admitted.

“Well then, how about you and the Colonel?” he asked the older woman sitting down across from her. She actually blushed.

“Oh, I don’t know. He might just be wanting a little company. You know, at my age . . .”

“If money shouldn’t get in your way, then neither should age,” he told her. “And I don’t think he’s just interested in a ‘little company’.”

“Well, he has been asking me out. Perhaps I should say yes.”

“You should,” he encouraged her. “You should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to introduce Emma in this chapter but the word total began to skyrocket, so I had to split the piece. Things will begin to happen quickly when young Miss Swan arrives in town.


	15. The Game is Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mayor pries into the personal lives of her constituents. A young woman arrives in town producing an extraordinary reaction in one of the town's leading citizens.

Of course, not everyone did approve of Mr. Gold’s developing relationship with Miss French. The same morning he had met with Miss Blanchard and Miss Maggie, Gold sat up-dating his business-related paperwork and savoring a second cup of coffee when the Grand Mayor, Miss Mills, came into his shop. Her heels making their distinctive sound on the hardwood floors were silenced when she stopped and allowed her eyes to adjust to the indoor light. She spotted him and came over to share her ‘concerns.’

The shop was quiet for the moment, pending the preschool crowd descending on the shop for his first attempt at a Toddler Story Time. Very pregnant, willing to do most anything for money, Miss Ashley Boyd was to be The Reader; he’d worked out a trade in children’s books for her time and services. Ashley had been waitressing at Granny’s Diner but the work had become too demanding.

“You must have been at the end of your rope, to accept favors from Miss French,” Mayor Mills began, slinking into a seat across from him.

“Not at all,” he explained. He considered sharing that he and Lacey had begun talking and found that they had a lot of similar interests, but then, as he thought it through, he really didn’t feel obligated to explain the relationship to the mayor.

“Well, if you’d wanted someone you had something in common with, I could have suggested several other, more mature, women,” Regina continued.

“Really?” he responded. “You’ve added pimping out women to interested men to your mayoral duties?” His tone was sharp, his look was scathing. _He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he really didn’t like this woman. He didn’t like being pushed around by her. He realized his new relationship with Miss French . . . Lacey, had given him confidence; he was no longer willing to kowtow to the Mayor’s whims._

Regina was taken aback. _This was not the meek, mild Spinner she was expecting._ “That’s . . . That’s not what I meant. I could have just introduced you to someone . . . m. . .mo . . . more age appropriate,” she sputtered, but did manage to finish up.

“Do you know the difference between this cup of coffee and your opinion, Madame Mayor?” he asked her holding up his coffee.

Regina did not answer immediately, so he expanded, “I asked for the coffee.” And then he returned his attention back to his receipts.

Realizing she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him, Regina left in a huff. _How dare he ignore her! Insult her!_ Clicking her black patent stilettos down the sidewalk of her town, still feeling righteous dudgeon, she encountered Lacey just as the younger woman was going into the bank.

“So, you and Mr. Gold,” she began without preamble.

Lacey stopped and looked at her.

“I hear you took the poor soul in,” Regain shared conspiratorially. “He is looking better but I have to be curious. Whatever are you getting out of it?”

Lacey blinked her large blue eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“You already have those three dogs. You can’t possibly need another pet. I mean the man must be what? in his forties? his fifties? He can’t have much to show in the bedroom.”

Lacey allowed a ghost of a smile to grace her face. “Depends what you mean by ‘much.’”

“What? I mean, is he even able to get it up on any kind of regular basis? I know they have these pills now.” Regina was trying to appear as if she was expressing sympathy.

“Oh, Regina,” Lacey laughed. “I’m not particularly demanding. Three . . . four orgasms a night is plenty for me,” Lacey told her smiling and then turned away. _Bitch, she thought._

_Regina was very unsatisfied – although she had to admit that likely Belle was being quite satisfied, damn her. Damn that Spinner. Who would have thought he could perform? Was it just the sex?_

_Things were not going the way they were supposed to._

_First, she had gotten word that David Nolan, aka Prince Charming, the one True Love of Snow White, was stirring, beginning to show some signs that he might be coming out of his coma. She had ordered Dr. Whale to keep her informed of any changes._

_She certainly didn’t want him waking up._

_Second, Mr. Forrest had (again) gently turned down her advances, even to get much desired money for his precious little fire department. If she’d had any real leverage to use against him . . . well, she might or might not have used it against him. She didn’t really know. Her feelings for him were a bit confused. He was so strong and upright, morally straight and genuinely good._

_What on earth did she see in him?_

_Third, there was now clearly a relationship between Belle and the Spinner. They had both warned her they would find each other again. And they had. Regina had a sudden thought. Did Belle know? Did Belle remember who, what she was? The thought made Regina grow cold. It would mean The Curse was already weakening._

_Three orgasms a night, indeed!_

\+ + + + +

It was late March, still chilly and subject to late season freezes.

The girl had been raised in the foster care system. Pretty, with long blond hair and deep green eyes, she was smart and savvy. She trusted no one. She had run away from her last placement in November, feeling that she was looking for. . . something. She was back on the road at the moment, hitchhiking, sometimes scrounging bus rides by convincing the driver she was a runaway who was now trying to get home.   She'd had her last meal when she’d ducked into an old-style diner. After she’d gotten a cup of hot water and squirted ketchup packets into it, she realized the waitress was eying her. Apparently the kindhearted woman had summed her up and had dropped some buttered toast on her, sharing that another customer had ordered it but had wanted it dry and not buttered. The girl had eaten it gratefully.

Soon enough the girl had hit the road again, walking along the side of the two lane road. It was poorly maintained asphalt, the edges eaten away by the forces of nature. There was no traffic in either direction.

 _Why had she walked north?_ she berated herself. It was cold and likely to get colder the further north she went. It was still winter up here. She needed to find somewhere she could get warm. She knew the further she got away from the larger cities, the fewer services for the homeless would be available. Usually if there were fast food places she could scrounge in the dumpsters and find decent enough food to eat. Usually if there were shopping malls, she would be able to find a warm place to sleep. As she got further and further afield, both shopping malls and fast food places were getting further and further apart.

Hell, not only were there no shopping malls or fast food places, there were no cars. There were no houses or anything that resembled businesses. No little diners or independent gas stations. No grocery stores, no drug stores, nothing. The sides along the road had not been mowed in a long time, weeds poking through the stray patches of unmelted snow. The trees were beginning to encroach and their crowns were reaching towards each other from the two sides of the road.

She was nearing a sign, the first one in several miles. _Welcome to Storybrooke_.

Big deal. She’d never heard of it.

She walked on into the town, her feet hurting, her ears aching from the cold. She pulled her backpack snugger and kept trudging.  

++++

Tonight Lacey and Gold were following their usual once a week routine: Lacey was meeting with her bookstore owner at Granny’s Diner for supper. They usually shared meals that one or the other had fixed in her home but she had insisted on continuing with their once a week ‘date’ night. In the past, before he had moved in, she had insisted on this diner meal because she didn’t think he was getting enough to eat when left to his own devices. Now that they were living together, she continued with the ritual. She truly enjoyed this one shared dinner out during the week because she wasn’t ashamed to be seen with the man and wanted him to know this.

Tonight, for a change, Lacey was waiting for him (usually she ran late). Ruby had briefly joined her, sitting down at the table, to share an episode that had occurred down at the Rabbit Hole the other evening when Elias had gone out with his best friends. According to Ruby, who had been there, Gold had taken down Keith Nottingham _who’d always been a pretentious jerk and twice Gold’s size._ Ruby had shared that Keith was making some lewd remarks about her, Belle. Gold had insisted the lout apologize and recant. Ruby had laughed, sharing she didn’t think Keith knew what ‘recant’ meant.   When Keith had guffawed and lunged at the man, Gold had sidestepped, tripped him and taken the bigger man out with his cane. His buddies had had to stop him from putting the guy into the hospital.

“I had no idea the man was that quick. With that ankle of his, I certainly wasn’t expecting it. It was like watching a coiled snake strike. I don’t know that Keith ever knew what hit him,” Ruby had told her.

Lacey had not been aware of the incident. Elias had never been anything but kind and gentle with her and she had never suspected he was capable of violence -- defending her honor, no less. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered or appalled.  

She sipped some tea waiting for the man and thought over their last few months together. Together they had gotten through the Christmas season and then Valentine’s Day, their relationship deepening and growing, in trust, in affection.

Elias, Lacey had realized quickly, was more of a romantic than herself. For the holidays, she would have been satisfied with a nice meal and some of his expert sexual attentions, but he was the kind of man who would arrange for rose petals on the bed or a talented high school _a cappella_ group to serenade her with several of her favorite songs outside of her little office. He would sometimes send her quirky gifts, like a box filled with bags of Funyuns, Swedish Fish and Garibaldi chocolates (all her favorites) or sexy gifts, like lacy undergarments (probably his favorites). There had been breakfasts in bed and precious little notes in her lunch or texted to her phone. He would send a glass of her favorite red wine to her office in the late afternoon and more than once she’d returned from the bank to find he’d set up a picnic lunch at her office.

Tonight, he came in, apologizing for running late. He had kissed her on the lips _right there in public and everything_ and presented a book to her, something by Charles Perrault that he had stumbled across, quite rare, quite valuable. It was something he'd thought she might enjoy and he had gone to some effort to secure it.

Granny had been expecting them and put their orders to the top of the line – a baked potato, a steak and a salad with blue cheese dressing for him. Lacey always got her hamburger with extra pickles and an iced tea. She would sit demurely across from him, _although at this point in their relationship she would sometimes slip her shoe off and run her foot up his pants leg . . . or even raise it so that it rested between his thighs, her wiggly little foot resting against his burgeoning hard-on, the shadow of the table wide enough to disguise her activity_. They would chat quietly about their week, the book he had brought, simple on-going activities around town. She considered, but didn’t bring up the Rabbit Hole incident.

It was late in the evening and most of the other patrons had gone home. Granny had gone home, leaving Ruby to close up. Gold, sitting with his back to the wall, saw the young girl come in. She sat at the far end of the counter, close to the door. She didn’t remove her backpack or her coat. Ruby approached her with a smile and took her order – just some hot water, please. Lacey watched Gold and glanced behind herself to see what he was looking at.

“We don’t get too many strangers to Storybrooke,” Ruby was chatting up the girl. “You visiting or just passing through?”

“Probably just passing through,” the girl muttered.

Ruby brought the hot water to the girl and watched her. The girl picked up one of the ketchup packages on the counter and stirred it into the hot water. Ruby watched her for a while and then came back over to her.

“You don’t have any money, do you?” she asked her quietly.

The girl shook her head.

“Here, I’m gonna have to put these out,” Ruby brought her a couple of sausage biscuits.

“Thanks, appreciate this,” the girl told her.

“Running away?” Ruby asked.

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “Does it show?”

“Oh yeah. You look a bit ragged.”

The girl ran her fingers through her hair.

“Are you going somewhere special?” Ruby leaned in towards her. The girl didn’t pull back. She shook her head _no._

“Listen, this is going to be pretty out there, but you wouldn’t want a job working here, would you?” Ruby asked. “One of our other waitresses is out. She’s about to drop a baby and we could really, really use the help.”

The girl looked at her suspiciously, “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“No, but I’m a good judge of character. And I can recognize somebody who’s down on their luck. You need a good turn and we really need another waitress. No one else has expressed any interest in the job, so we’re absolutely desperate. It would be on a trial, of course,” Ruby told her.

The girl looked up and brightened. “All right. I’ve waitressed before. When do I start?”

“How about tomorrow morning? We open at six.”

“Sure,” the girl answered eagerly between large bites of sausage biscuit. She finished the biscuits in three bites apiece. Ruby wordlessly gave her a plate of leftover lasagna which the young woman also ate quickly, scraping the plate.

Gold and Lacey had overheard the conversation in the quiet of the diner. He leaned over to Lacey. “Perhaps, we should offer her a place to stay.”

She was puzzled. “Why?”

“She doesn’t have anywhere to stay. She doesn’t have any money,” Gold whispered.

“So why is that our concern?” Lacey asked him.

“Because we’re nice people,” he explained it to her.

“You’re nice people,” she corrected him. He had his soft brown eyes focused on her in an unwavering stare. He wouldn’t back down. She’d seen this look before. “All right, but you’re responsible for us. If she cuts our throats in our sleep and absconds with the silver, I shall hold you accountable,” she warned him.

“I didn’t say to put her in the spare bedroom, but I’d think we could spring for a room at the inn for a night,” he explained. “Or how about one of those little apartments above the town library; one of those where you stashed Miss Blanchard after Regina condemned her house so she could widen the road.” He took a sip of his tea. “They need some work and perhaps you could work out a deal.”

Lacey thought it over and, knowing she wouldn’t win this discussion, she graced him with a stunning smile and got up to approach the girl. As he watched her walk away, he couldn’t help but admire, as he had often done before, her trim yet womanly figure. He always thought her skirts were too short and her heels too high but she wore them well.

“Hi,” Lacey slipped up onto the stool next to the new girl. “You’re new in town.”

“Just passing through.” The girl drew back and did not make any eye contact. She was maybe eighteen, Lacey thought, very pretty, with long blonde hair and green eyes. Very pretty.

“I’m Lacey.”

“I’m . . . I’m Swan, Emma Swan.”.

Lacey held on to the edge of the counter. Her head swam. She managed to gasp out, “Emma. What a lovely name,” before she slid off the stool, crumbling to the floor.

Lacey woke up lying on one of the diner’s plastic covered booth benches. She blinked her eyes at the harsh florescent lights boring down into her aching head. _Not Lacey, Belle, I’m Belle_ Everything had crashed in onto her. The Enchanted Forest. The Curse. Rumple. Her Rumple captured and tortured by . . . Regina. The Dark One. She, Belle, she was the Dark One. The most powerful sorceress in all the realms.

Except this one, which had no magic. Belle looked around. Ruby, the wolf-girl. And Elias Gold, her very own Spinner Rumple – her sweet, darling Spinner. And now here was Emma, _Emma the Savior_. The one that she had helped the Blue Fairy weave into the spell, the spell-breaker, the loophole. The one that Regina did not know about.

“Hon, are you all right?” Ruby was asking. She had laid a cool cloth on Belle’s forehead.

“Yes. I guess. . . I guess I was more tired than I realized.” She struggled to sit up. Her Spinner Rumple was watching her with concern in his whiskey-brown eyes. “I was about to invite Miss Swan to stay in one of the little spare apartments above the library. I would be willing to have her do a few odd jobs and work out a deal for the first month’s rent, allowing her a place to stay until she got a paycheck.”

“Really?” Emma asked, her eyes large and disbelieving. “You would do that for me?”

“How hard did you hit your head?” Ruby asked.

“Sure dearie,” Belle told the girl, ignoring Ruby. “You look a little down on your luck and . . . well, several of us know how that feels.” _And it will totally piss Regina off._

Rumple watched her, obviously concerned. He continued to watch her when he helped her sit up, when she passed on a key to Emma for the apartment. He had watched her when he helped her stand up, when she complained of dizziness, and then when he had ushered her out of the Diner. He had watched her when he put his hand on her elbow and she had cringed and jerked away.   _It was something . . . it was something Zoso had done to her. Zoso who had . . ._ Belle stopped and vomited her supper, stumbled and fell forward, landing on hands and knees while she continued to retch.

“That’s it,” she dimly heard him say and he was calling out for Ruby who was still in the Diner . . . something about an ambulance.

She didn’t want to go to the hospital. She was fine. _She was just remembering traumatizing events from a past life – repeated assaults, brutal treatment, threats on her life from a monster._

But despite her protests, Lacey-Belle found herself in the back of an ambulance riding to Storybrooke General. Likely because of her position in the community, she received a quick assessment from Dr. Whale, who had been working a rotation in the ER that evening. He’d quickly sent her over for a CT scan, assuring them that it was just a precaution.

“Likely a mild concussion. We’ll want to keep her over night to be sure there’s no swelling or anything serious.” She heard the doctor through a haze. He was talking with someone on the other side of a curtain. _She knew the doctor – a brief flirtation with regenerating the dead – a dismal experiment. She knew Regina didn’t like him – no doubt why he was in this hell-hole._

“I’m fine,” she called out. _She just needed to adjust to two sets of memories and deal with some severe PTSD._

Rumple came through the curtains. “Of course you are, dear. But, just to make me feel better, please, stay the night here, all right?”

He had those big brown eyes on her. She had liked his eyes from the very beginning – just puddles of feels. She reluctantly nodded. _What harm would it do? It would give her a chance to think some things over. And he was being so sweet and so concerned._

She was soon settled in a nice private room. Rumple crashed on the recliner in the room, refusing to leave her. He was soon asleep.

Belle reviewed some things. She hadn’t let that sleazy monster Zoso drive her to suicide or insanity while he was alive. Her anger and bravery had allowed her to survive and then, after she had acquired the Darkness, it was that very Darkness that had allowed her to shrug off the assaults as if they had happened to someone else. And then The Spinner came and he had been part of her healing. He’d always been so gentle and sweetly considerate. She looked at him, sleeping uncomfortably in the chair – he still was the better part of her, the reason she made any effort to be a good person.

Then Belle remembered something else.

Something devastating.

She had taken this man, this kind, gentle man, from his family, his child, just to pay her back for an overnight stay at her castle. She had demanded a life-time of service from the man which he had given her in exchange for her taking care of his family.

She was an awful person.

\+ + + + + +

Belle had ridden home with Rumple the following morning after being released with a concussion diagnosis. She was not allowed to drive herself to work. She was not to be left alone for the next forty-eight hours. She was strongly encouraged to partake in bed rest with plenty of fluids (no alcohol). _She had impertinently asked Whale how she was to get bed rest if she was drinking plenty of fluids._ Rumple had been given a long list of things to look out for, including additional vomiting, problems with balance, any problems with eyesight, any limb weakness, mental confusion, unusual drowsiness, headache and others. They had a follow-up appointment in a week.

They had decided to go home first so they could both change. Then he would set her up in the back of his shop, so she could be monitored, get plenty of rest and he could operate his business. But Rumple was not happy. He had been re-thinking the Emma Swan Situation.

“Now that I’ve thought about it, I’m not so sure being this nice to a perfect stranger is very smart. I mean, I was thinking of putting her up for the night in the Inn but you set her up in an apartment,” he told her. “I was the one to mention the apartments, I know, but, what if she’s a meth-head or serial killer or just an ordinary thief?”

“She’s not,” Belle told him assuredly. “I have a feeling about her,” she explained. “Remember, you were the one who insisted I put her up. I would think you would be congratulating me on being nice to someone, giving somebody a break. I’m just sharing some of the wealth I’ve been blessed with,” Belle told him.  

He shrugged and made no response. As they drove the short distance back to her house, Belle looked at him closely. He was different now. Oh there was still the humble, anxious, self-effacing Spinner she had known and he was still the kind, sweet man who had timidly gotten into bed with her, but now there was an edge to him.There was a growing sense of confidence there -- he was now the kind of man who would defend his girlfriend in a bar fight. That was different from the Spinner she had known before. _How much of this was the effect of Regina’s curse and how much was the effect of the years of torture the man had endured? It couldn’t be a result of their feelings for each other . . . could it?_

She thought he still looked very attractive, dressing well -- _she had helped with that_. And at the moment he was sporting a slightly scruffy, need-to-shave look _which suited him surprisingly well_.  But there was a hardness existing as a shell around the man. He was circumspect, careful, less trusting. To the mind of the Dark one, it made him even more interesting.

She tentatively began to sift through her cursed memories and touch on those memories of her life that were from before the Curse. The abuse she had suffered at the hands of Zoso – it had been altered into a history of child sexual abuse. She shuddered. She felt sick to her stomach for a moment but, as it always had _except for that little episode last night_ , her anger rose and sustained her. The Voices, before she had thought they were just darkness, bad impulses hounding her, but now she recognized them as the remnants of the previous Dark Ones. Here they were not as strong as they had been -- whispering voices in her head – making the most outrageous suggestions and urging her toward control and power. The Curse had dampened the power of the Dark One but had not completely eliminated it.    

She regarded Rumple. Here, they were lovers as they had been Before. It had taken awhile before anything happened and Lacey had been the one to initiate the relationship. Now he was living with her.

_Nice._

“To give something and expect nothing in return?” Rumple was talking again. “It’s . . . it’s not good business. You’ve taught me that.”

“There’s more to life than good business.” _A part of her was enjoying this. It seemed a reversal of their usual roles, the one with the kind man usually being the one to try to rein in the selfish desires and whims of the Dark One._

“Hah,” he snorted. “This is coming from you? You have always been about profit.”

“Those apartments still need a lot of work, painting if nothing else. If this works out, perhaps Miss Swan can trade some work for rent. If the apartments were in better shape, I might be able to rent more of them out.”

_And now Belle knew: it was imperative, absolutely imperative that Emma Swan be persuaded to stay in Storybrooke._

They pulled into the driveway. Belle let herself out and he came around the car to help guide her into the house . . . her house. She was slowly sorting out her memories, distinguishing cursed memories from older memories. Here, Rumple was known as Elias Gold. He was an impoverished bookstore owner and she had rescued him from his destitute state and she had seduced him. He had been as shy and timid with her here as he had been in the Enchanted Forest.  

Odd. This house had some elements of the Dark Castle, the large sitting room, the kitchen off to one side and the dining room all there on the ground floor. No bathing chamber. There was a toilet and sink here on the ground floor and two bathing chambers, one up on the second floor and one on the third floor. Belle knew their bedroom was on the second floor.

Belle immediately recognized the cat, Kari, as the fire lizard. The cat greeted her, looking her in the eye and Belle realized that the little dragonette _knew_.

 _How long have you known little one?_ she so wanted to ask _._

Belle wavered and he caught her.

“Are you all right?” Gold asked her. This was one of the behaviors on _The List_ he’d been given.

“I’m sorry. Still a little woozy,” she told him, enjoying the sensation of his arms around her. _Yes, his kindness and gentleness had helped her overcome, or at least manage, the Zoso Matter._

“Well, maybe the girl will stick around, make some money and be able to pay rent,” Gold was still thinking it through. “That could work out well like you said, since you’re not making money on those library apartments at the moment anyway.”

“Ah yes, that’s my ultimate master plan,” Belle told him playfully. _Actually it’s for the girl to stick around long enough, find her True Love and give him a kiss._

_That would break the Curse._


	16. I Like This Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Emma and Regina have an encounter which has serious consequences for Regina. Belle conceives of a plan to re-connect the Spinner and his son.

Emma had found the library apartment to be better than anything she might have imagined.  There was a tiny bedroom, a little bathroom, a minuscule kitchen and a small living room area. It certainly needed cosmetic work with chipped paint and floors that needing re-sanding and re-finishing and everything was sorrowfully dated, but it was still nicer than any place she’d had to herself since . . . ever.  She flopped on the bed, kicking off her shoes and closing her eyes.  She had two changes of clothes.  She’d change into one of them tomorrow morning.  She lay on the bed, unable to go to sleep, tightly wound from the road.   

It had been a long road here.  When she had decided to strike out in mid-November it had seemed the right thing to do but why she’d had the compulsion to walk north, she couldn’t fathom.  Most runaways go south, to places like Asheville, Savannah, New Orleans.  How she'd ended up in this Land of the Lost?  She’d never heard of Storybrooke, Maine, as having made The Lure List for Lost Children. 

But did the place ever _feel_ right.  Sure, it was an outdated little place (only a generous person would call it quaint) with family-owned businesses that closed at six but, even so, it still felt inviting.  It gave her an odd feeling, like she belonged.   She snorted.  _Right, she Emma Swan, sophisticated, urbane teenager that she was, belonged here in Little BFE, Maine._ She stared at the cracks in the ceiling corners, the sheer quietness of the place weighing her down and found herself dozing off.  She hoped she’d wake with the dawn and be able to get herself over to the Diner in time to keep her job. 

Under a grey morning sky, she actually beat Granny to the Diner, standing outside waiting for her to show up.  She was scrubbed and fresh-faced in her clean clothes (the others hand rinsed and hanging in the apartment’s bathroom).  Emma gave her a weak smile when Granny came up to the door to unlock the place.

“No watch,” she explained and then followed the older woman in. 

“Ruby said she’d offered you Ashley’s job.  She said you’d said you’d waitressed before?”  the older woman seemed kindly but had a sharp glint to her eye.  _She might be nice but she was no fool._

“Yes ma’am,” Emma answered meekly. 

Granny nodded and handed her the menu to look over.  “Well, we have been pretty desperate since Ashley had to quit with the baby and all, so I’m willing to give you a shot.  Most of the customers are regulars.  They get the same thing each time they come in.  In the morning we have a bunch of the high schoolers who just get coffee – all in to-go cups.  They sit in a corner booth and get umpteen refills.  They’re loud and obnoxious.   I’ll let you take care of them.  Ruby tends to chit chat with them too much.”

“So do we have table assignments or just rotate as customers come in?”

Granny looked at her, apparently happy with the question.  “In the morning and at lunch, it’s a rotation, but at night, it’s table assignments.”  She was already inside, prepping some coffee and cranking up the grill.   She handed Emma an apron.

“Gotcha,” Emma replied.  She studied the menu.  Not overly long.  Pretty simple, basic food, nothing unexpected.  She should be able to handle this. 

Ruby dragged in a while after, clearly not a morning person.  She poured herself a cup of coffee and added five sugars.  She sat at the counter valiantly trying to get a third coat of mascara on her long lashes. 

The first customer was a tall, lanky fellow, a lawman.

“I’ll take care of him,” Emma told Ruby. 

“Oh, thanks.  That’s Sheriff Graham.  He usually gets the Number Three Breakfast Special,” Ruby whispered.  

“Thanks,” Emma told her.  She recalled that Number Three was two eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns.  She approached the officer.  “Good morning,” she greeted him.

The young sheriff looked up from the menu, “You’re new.”

_Obviously a trained observer,_ Emma thought.  “That’s right.  I’m Emma.”

“Well glad to meet you Emma.  I’m Sheriff Graham.”  He was looking her over, assessing her.  _Emma was always edgy around lawmen.  Although she hadn’t committed any crimes, she might be on the runaway list. She wasn’t quite eighteen and was still officially a ward of the state._

She gave the officer a big smile and leaned over to get his order, allowing him a glimpse of the shadow of her cleavage.  _That should give her a better tip._ He stuck with his usual Number Three order with coffee and Emma posted the order with Granny, who’d already started cooking it up.

Customers drifted in.  Emma couldn’t miss the gaggle of high schoolers.  They were kids her age, mostly younger, some few older.  She had finished school at sixteen taking part in some accelerated classes.  She would’ve been on track to go to college but life, circumstances, money, and general disinterest had put a stop to that.  She’d left her last foster home after it had become too strict and cloying and she hadn’t looked back. 

She didn’t mind hard work.  She didn’t mind roughing it.  She didn’t want to be dependent on anyone.  She’d also learned not to trust anyone. 

The highschoolers were easy.  As Granny had said, coffee in to-go cups all around.  She’d loaded up the table in sweetners and creamers and did a little joking around but bowed out when other customers came in. 

Ruby handled the gruff, bald-headed customer who did nothing but complain.  He announced that he wasn’t very hungry and would just get three eggs scrambled, a pork chop, a double order of toast, large order of hash browns scattered, smothered, covered, diced, peppered, capped along with country gravy, a large orange juice and a large coffee.  Ruby _without a trace of sarcasm_ asked him if he wasn’t feeling well and the man had nodded, sharing he just couldn’t work up much of an appetite this morning. 

Emma got the pretty brunette who’d just wanted one fried egg, buttered toast and juice – _Mary Margaret Blanchard, Granny told her, the high school English teacher._  

Ruby took care of an older guy, _the Colonel_ , a sweet old fellow who’d also gotten the Number Three Special. 

Then a striking woman with a killer chic haircut and fuck-me black patent pumps came in. She wore a designer pearl grey linen suit with a crisp white blouse.

“Hello Mayor Mills,” Granny called out from behind the counter.

“Um,” the woman grunted a response.  Emma moved in to take care of her.

“Who are you?” the woman asked her looking up from her window seat.  She seemed startled to see Emma. 

_It was not turning out to be a good day for Mayor Mills.  She had received word late last night that David Nolen had awakened in the hospital Intensive Care Unit – a very disturbing bit of news and she was quite out of sorts.  And now, now there was this New Person._

“I’m Emma.  I’m taking Ashley’s place,” Emma told her.  “Do you need to see a menu or are you ready to order?”

The woman glared at her.  “Where did you come from?”

“I was just passing through and this job happened, so I thought I’d stay awhile,” Emma answered her brightly, her pen poised above her pad.

The woman continued to stare at her.  “We don’t get many visitors here,” she finally said sourly.  “I’ll have two egg whites, scrambled, whole wheat toast, dry, and hot tea, no sugar, no milk.”

“Yes ma’am,” Emma smiled and got her order in.  “Brrr,” she whispered to Ruby.

“Oh yeah, our beloved mayor.   Don’t get on her bad side,” advised Ruby.

There was a lull in incoming customers, so Emma took a brief break, organizing her tickets, sipping her own cup of coffee and nibbling on one of Granny’s truly excellent sausage biscuits. Freshly made these were a bit of heaven, Emma decided.  She’d already started a nice collection of tips – most of the townspeople here were proving to be generous. 

There was a bit of noise as the high schoolers got up, en masse, to leave, one of the boys jostling one of the girls and bumping her arm.  The girl spilled some of her coffee on the floor.  Emma, now up and around, hadn’t witnessed the incident, having her back turned to the group while she checked on the Sheriff, getting him a refill.   She didn’t see the spill.  She returned to the counter for pick-up and now, carrying the Mayor’s breakfast over to her, she stepped on the slick spot, slipped . . . and the entire meal went airborne, turning flips in the air and raining down on the mayor, eggs dropping into her hair, the toast going into her face and the tea making a direct hit onto the front of her light grey suit and white blouse. _No, not a good day for Mayor Mills._

“You stupid girl!” Regina stood up, screeching.  “You clumsy, stupid girl!”

“Hey, lighten up Regina, it was an accident,” the gruff bald man was the first to come to Emma’s rescue.  “She didn’t see the spilled coffee.” 

“Are you all right?” Sheriff Graham had also quickly come over to Emma, helping her stand.

The Colonel was also there, standing by to offer Emma any help she might need.

“Regina, I’m so sorry.  We’ll get you a new breakfast on the house,” Granny told her.   

“Never mind.  I have to go home and change now!” Regina stomped out of the diner.

“Send us your dry cleaning bill,” Ruby called after her.

Emma winced and cringed, expecting to be summarily fired.  But Ruby was laughing. 

“That was priceless!” she told Emma.  Emma looked round and everyone else in the diner was laughing.

“As you can probably figure out, Regina is not particularly well-liked around here,” Granny explained.  “There have been soooo many times that I’ve wanted to dump her food over her head and now, you’re here just one day and you actually do it!”

“I’m not fired?” Emma finally asked.

“It was an accident.  Although I do need to warn you that it probably wasn’t your smartest move to piss Regina off,” Granny told her.

\+ + + + +

Bryson Spinner worked part-time.  He worked part-time at Clark’s Drug Store.  He worked part-time at the Animal Shelter.  And on Saturdays he did a variety of part-time odd jobs for different people around town.  He was working to help support his great-aunt Maggie who had raised him after his parents had died.  He had finished school last year and was giving serious thought to enlisting in the military.  He thought this would give him his best chance of furthering his education, getting some real job skills and helping him provide a better life for his aunt. 

He had been on his way to the Clark’s, where he worked the morning shift, working the cash register, sweeping, delivering the odd prescription.  He passed some of his friends, still in school.  They greeted him and one of the boys let him know there was a hot new waitress working at Granny’s.  As he got closer to the Drug Store, his path taking him by the Diner, he saw the Mayor stomping out of the Diner, her hair dampened down and her suit stained and covered with egg remnants.  She looked like someone had dumped her breakfast order on top of her.  _Kudos to them._ He slowed up, strolling by the Diner, looking in the front window. 

No, he didn’t catch a glimpse of the new waitress.  Perhaps another morning.

\+ + + + + +

Once at home, Regina began to change.  She was so angry, she was trembling.  _Damn right she’d send them her dry cleaning bill._ She needed to shower to get Granny’s greasy eggs and burnt toast out of her hair and completely redress, this time picking out a blue linen suit with another crisp blouse.  After the shower, she’d blown her hair dry.  She frowned.  Her hair was determined to frizz this morning so she resorted to gel and a curling iron to get just the right bounce in her straight locks. She had almost finished when she was startled by a loud ‘yowellllll’ sound.  She nearly dropped the curling iron.

“Damnation!” she shouted and turned. There it was. Sitting outside her second story bathroom window was a large orange cat.  The animal was sitting on a tree branch, glaring at her.  Then it hissed at her.  Regina considered hissing back.

_It must be that god-forsaken, mangy, butt-licking cat from the Spinner’s shop!  He’d brought it over to Belle’s house when he’d moved in and now the damned thing roamed the neighborhood, terrorizing the dogs and the squirrels._ Regina set the curling iron down and went over to the window.  She opened it and _wishing she still had magic_ shouted at the animal to go away, to get out of her tree.  _Maybe she could get someone from the Animal Shelter to pick the thing up._ She watched the animal startle and sprint down out of the tree, running back across her yard.  Still shaken and angry, but somewhat satisfied, Regina left the bathroom without realizing she’d left the plugged-in curling iron sitting on a towel. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, she took some deep breaths and managed to fix herself some coffee and some dry toast. 

She remained in her kitchen at her little workstation, sitting in front of her computer, nibbling and sipping.  _What was going on?  Belle and the Spinner getting together, David, aka Prince Charming, waking up, and now a stranger in town.  It had only been about eighteen years.  Was the Curse unraveling all ready?  Things were not supposed to change._ She called Rory.  She would work from home today _and try and figure things out._

It was mid-morning when the alarm went off. 

The downstairs alarm. 

Regina looked up from the computer screen and saw a dark layer of smoke filtering into the room.  She got up and went out into the hallway.  The black smoke was billowing down the staircase.  She started up the stairs, heading right into the thick bank of smoke.  _Where was it all coming from?_ The wall of heat hit her.  She could hear crackling and she could see flames.  She quickly realized the upstairs was ablaze.  As she started to come down the stairs, she began to struggle to breath and everything went black.

She vaguely heard the sirens and barely felt the arms of the man who had picked her up to carry her out.  Dimly a few voices came through.  “Overcome with smoke.”  “The upstairs alarm must have failed.  It would have alerted her earlier.”  “Probably something like a curling iron or space heater.”  “Looks like it started in one of the upstairs bathrooms.”  “Too bad those hoses didn’t stand up to the water pressure.” 

When things cleared, Regina was lying in a pristine hospital bed, that idiot Whale bending over her. She had in a nose plug for oxygen and an IV with saline going into her arm.

“Why am I here?” she demanded.  “What happened?”

“Good to know you’re feeling better.  You had a little smoke inhalation,” Whale explained.   “Your x-rays look clean so we don’t think there’s been any serious damage.  We’ve got you on oxygen and fluids right now and I’ll be ordering a short course of corticosteriods to reduce any inflammation.”

“When can I go home?” she wanted to know.

“Well, if you do all right tonight and things look good tomorrow morning, we’ll be letting you go home . . . well, maybe not home, but at least you can leave the hospital then,” Whale told her. 

“Why can’t I go home?” she asked.

“Not much left, as I understand it.  The Fire Department was there all morning putting it out.  Took them longer than it should what with their antiquated equipment and all.  Two of their hoses burst.  They were actually using garden hoses to go after the fire,” Whale told her _was he a tad smug?_ “I understand that you had turned down their request for additional funding to get new hoses.”  He smiled and left her to stew. 

_Son of a bitch!  If she had any inkling that the Fire Department had let her house burn because she had refused them extra funding she would . . . she would . . . well, heads would roll._

She heard a noise and looked up.  Robert Forrest.

He was standing just outside of her room and came in when she saw him.  He was dressed in his uniform, his hair disheveled, his face smudged and he smelled . . . rather nice – smoky and outdoorsy and some kind of clean soapy smell.   

“Mayor Mills.  I had to see how you were doing.  I’m so sorry.  We didn’t get the call until some neighbors spotted flames coming out one of the upstairs windows.  We got there in less than five minutes, but the roof and the entire second floor was already involved.  I hate that the battery on that upstairs alarm wasn’t working.  It would have alerted you so much earlier.”

“So this is my fault?” she asked coldly.

“Oh no, of course not.  We just haven’t been able to do the education program about regularly replacing alarm batteries twice a year, so we weren’t there to remind you,” he apologized.

“Ah, the hero of the hour.”  Both Regina and Robert turned.  It was Sidney Glass, lead newspaper reporter now standing in the doorway of the room.  “Can I get a picture of you and Mayor Mills here?” he asked Robert, taking the picture before either of them could respond.

“Why?” Regina demanded.

“He saved your life, Madame Mayor,” Sidney explained excitedly.  “The upstairs was completely engulfed in flames! Smoke had filled the house! The roof was about to cave in, when he bravely went in and carried you out!  Here,” he thrust a glossy picture in front of her.  “I got this as he came out of the house with you.”

Regina looked at the large glossy print. It was of her house, taken with the front door wide open.  There were flames visible through the doorway.  Silhouetted against the orange of the fire was Robert exiting the house with her flung over his shoulder.

“Not my best side,” she observed acidly.

“You look pretty good to me,” Robert said softly and Regina felt a moment of warmth.

There was a second photo which showed her and Robert further out on the lawn with the house in mid-collapse behind them.

“Here’s another one with him doing mouth-to-mouth with you on the lawn,” Sidney handed her a third picture. Behind them the house was now a smoldering pile of rubble.   

She bit her lip.  “Well, I guess I need to tell you thank you,” she said contritely, looking up at the Fire Chief.

“It’s my job, Mayor,” Robert told her modestly.  “I just wish we could have saved your home.” 

Sidney snapped a few pictures before Whale came in and told him to leave.  Robert hung back. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked her.

“Of course.  I have friends,” she began.  _Friends?  She had no friends.  Well, there was always the Inn.  She might, and she was disgusted by the possibility, have to go to Lacey French and see if there might be a rental property she could live in until she could sort out what to do about her house, well, her property.  Lacey was also her insurance agent as well as the only realtor in town, so she would have to deal with her sooner or later._

“All right then.  I’ll be by to check on you another time, then.”  He still hung back.  “Hey,” he stopped.  “Dr. Whale says they’ll probably be releasing you tomorrow morning.  I can pick you up, if you like and take you anywhere you need to go.”

“I’ll just need a ride home . . .” she began and stopped.

“Your car got taken out too,” Robert informed her reluctantly.  “It was in your garage when the roof caved in and was burnt up also.  Actually, when the heat hit the gas tank, it kinda exploded.  It was pretty impressive.”

Regina winced.  “A ride would be nice,” she managed to grit out.  _It did appear as if she was going to be dependent on the kindness of others . . . if only for a day._

“You’re going to need some transportation if you’re going to get things done and I’ll be happy to chauffeur you around town.”  He paused.  “If you like, I could treat you to supper tomorrow night.  It would be at my place with my son.  And it’ll probably be spaghetti with sauce from a jar, so it wouldn’t be fancy.”

She was about to refuse, to haughtily refuse, when something made her reconsider.  “Let me see what’s to be done with my house and . . . well, maybe,” she told him.

\+ + + + + +        

The wine license went through the very day that Regina had stomped out of the Diner and set her house on fire.  Following Regina’s long-standing instructions, Rory, her long-suffering administrative assistant, had sorted paperwork into two piles:  those that would bring the town money and those that would cost the town.  The ones that would bring in money were simply rubber stamped, as per the Mayor’s standing instructions.  Those that would cost the town were set aside to wait and wait and wait for mayoral attention (which never came).  Dutifully, once rubber-stamped, Rory had sent the new license over to Elias’s shop by runner.  Elias had received it gratefully and set it in a frame he had purchased for the occasion. He had already taken some of his modest funds and purchased an array of wine glasses, and using the suggestions from both Mary Margaret’s Book Club and Miss Maggie’s Fiber Group, he’d bravely gone ahead stocked the place with a basic wine selection.  As he was proudly hanging the new license up, he heard sirens.

“Odd,” he remarked.  “That sounds serious.  Like something big is happening.”  He looked out the front of the shop and could see a plume of black smoke rising, coming from the residential section of town.  He sighed.  It was in the general direction of Belle’s house.  He didn’t want to alarm Belle, whom he had finally gotten settled for a moment. He surreptitiously made a couple of phone calls and was able to ascertain that it was Regina’s house on fire.  He glanced back, wondering if Belle had heard the sirens. 

“So good news,” Belle said to him from her comfy chair.

“What?!” _Was she talking about Regina’s house being on fire?  How could she know?_

“Getting the wine license.  I was afraid Regina would try to block it on some triviality and we’d have a fight on our hands,” Belle told him.

“Yeah, me too.  I think . . . “ he said slowly.  “Regina may have some other things occupying her attention right now.”  He strolled back toward the back room and stood looking in at his old apartment.  He felt her come up behind him, her distinctive scent, movements that were specific to her, a sixth sense of _her._ He didn’t have to look.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked him.  She was standing behind him.

Gold shook his head.  “It’s daring.  What if it doesn’t work?” he asked her.  “I mean, to expand the coffee shop this much?”

“You can move the entire café into the back room, your old apartment.  It shouldn’t take too much remodeling.  Have to widen this door frame.  Getting more tables and chairs and the refrigeration case should pay for itself within . . .” Belle looked at her figures, “six months, at the longest.”

“But who will manage the orders?” he asked her.  He really wasn’t sure of this. He didn’t wait for her to respond, but ushered her back to her special chair.

“I’ve got someone in mind.  He’s young, but responsible,” Belle told him allowing him to guide her back to her chair.   _And he’s your son – the one your cursed memories have told you is dead._

_She had felt terrible and guilty about her role in separating Rumple from his family.  What kind of horrible person had she been, to take a father away from his son?  She couldn’t give him back the time with his son that she had stolen but maybe she could reunite them.  She had to bring them back together.  She owed him, owed them that much._

Gold had reluctantly agreed to go along with Belle’s idea of expansion.  He really wasn’t capable of refusing her anything.

At Gold’s insistence, Belle re-settled into the comfy chair and sat sipping some hot cider that he had brought her.  He’d also brought her books and magazines and mothered her like a hen with a sick chick, bringing her soup in the afternoon and keeping a flow of drinks coming.  She knew the real problem wasn’t a concussion but she did appreciate the man’s gentle attentions.  During lulls, she watched him as he began to clean out his old apartment (not that there was much there).  Belle had accepted his old furniture as a donation to her Library Apartments renovations, furnishing yet another one of the units.  She made a call to make arrangements with Leroy to take the furniture over there. 

By mid-afternoon there had been a string of customers come into the shop to share all about Regina’s house fire.

“Burned to the ground.” “Nothing left.” “A total loss.” “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”  The general line of comments was that Regina deserved what had happened, that if she had listened to that nice Fire Chief, Mr. Forrest, then the hoses would have held up and they might have been able to save something. 

Belle sighed upon learning of The Incident _who would have thought The Savior would have had such an immediate and dramatic impact – she wasn’t sure what Miss Swan had done but felt sure she had been involved at some point._  Belle then called Airree to pull Regina’s insurance policy and get the paperwork together.  Regina would likely be calling her soon enough.  She’d want to settle on the house and from what Belle had heard, her car.  Plus, she probably would need a place to stay.  Belle called Airree back and asked her to also bring over a listing of available rental properties, short though it might be. 

“You’re not supposed to be working,” Elias gently reprimanded her. 

Belle had to laugh.  “This isn’t exactly work.” She explained, “It does hurt to pay out money, even when it’s not my money, but knowing that Regina’s suffering makes it all bearable.  I’m especially enjoying the part where she dragged her feet on replacing the antiquated equipment and that appears to have been a significant contributor to the loss of her house and car.”

Elias had to agree, “There is some _schadenfreude_ here for sure.”

Belle settled in for the remainder of the afternoon.  She’d made a few more phone calls and had learned that Regina was going to be fine.  _Well darn._

Belle then turned her attention to breaking The Curse.  She really wasn’t sure what the next step needed to be.  She had no idea of whom Emma’s True Love might be.  She so wished she could scry in this world but seriously doubted it would yield any results.   She hoped the rivers of fate would simply push Emma and her True Love together and didn’t know too much that she could do to help on that front – although she thought having Emma work at the Diner would get her into contact with a pretty large cross-section of the townspeople. 

However, even if Belle wasn’t able to help with the True Love Curse Breaking business, she knew she could reunite father and son and had already formulated a plan.  Bryson, as he was known here, was smart, hardworking and responsible.  Her Rumple, Elias here, should like the young man.  She had a pretty good idea of what he was making working at his part-time jobs and she should be able to beat this with one full-time job at the bookstore  _with benefits._


	17. What's Given Freely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina begins to recover from the fire and makes some connections. The bookstore cafe begins to make money and Elias begins a new relationship.

Regina had reluctantly spent the night in the hospital.  The next day, from her hospital bed, she had called Belle and arranged to meet her at the bookstore later that morning. Robert had been true to his word and had shown up early to greet her as she rode a wheelchair out of the hospital.  Regina wasn’t thrilled to find herself presented with a truck as her new transportation, but this was apparently what Robert drove _and it was clean._ Regina had only the clothes she had worn yesterday and they were wrinkled and stained with grass and lord knows what else.  She had no make-up, no hair care materials.  She thought she looked a fright.

But Robert’s eyes lit up when he saw her. 

He had first driven her by the remnants of her house, trying to prepare her what she would find.  The place was clearly a total loss and she wasn’t sure it was even worth trying to pick through the rubble to salvage anything, whether there would be anything to salvage.  The garage area, where her car had been, was a mass of melted metal and construction debris.  

Robert drove her on to the bookstore and Regina found Belle was waiting for her, expressing sympathy for her loss.   Belle’s efficient assistant had already sent over appropriate paperwork and a check.   She let Regina know that a generous sum had already been deposited into her bank account – for immediate expenses, _such as clothing and maybe a hairbrush, she’d added archly_. Regina was fully covered, house and car and everything would eventually be set to right. But, Belle warned her, the insurance rates would be going up (for everyone) because, after the fire hose fiasco, the town had been told that they did not have good fire department protection.

Regina grimaced.  _She was sure she would be reading about the rate hike, along with the lack of funding and her administration’s role in the entire fiasco in the next edition of_ The Storybrooke Mirror _._

Belle then asked her if she’d gotten a place to stay.

Regina said she would likely have to be staying at the Inn.

“Of course,” Belle had answered smoothly.  “I’m pretty familiar with real estate in this town and I regret there really aren’t any houses available for you to rent.”  She went on to tell her that the most immediately available property, which Belle doubted would suit Regina’s needs, were the Library Apartments.  They needed work but were already sparsely furnished and offered the meager benefits of privacy, a small kitchen, and internet access, none of which could be found at the Inn.  They were much, much smaller than what Regina was used to but could work, if she didn’t want to avail herself of Granny’s hospitality, until Belle might be able to locate a larger place.  It would be several months before her house could be rebuilt. 

Regina reluctantly accepted a key to one of the apartments.  Robert had walked with her over to the Library Apartments and had gone up the stairs with her to check out the little apartment.  It was furnished with a single old-fashioned cast iron bed, barely bigger than a cot, a small cabinet and a small table and a single chair.  As Regina stood in the bleak grey place, she heard a timid knock on the door.  It was Mother Superior accompanied by several of her sisters. 

“Madame Mayor, we were so sorry to hear of your loss.  Mr. Gold called and let us know you would be staying here.  He thought you could use a few things.”  And two of the sisters came in carrying boxes which they set on the small table in the small kitchen. 

“This has some new sheets, a set of dishes, a couple of toiletries.  Just some basics,” the woman told her.  “And Miss French also wanted me to tell you that if you come by the bookstore after five, she should have a key for a rental car ready for you.  If there is anything else we can do, please let us know.”  And just as quickly as she had come, she let herself out. 

Regina was astonished.  She had never gotten along with the Sisters, particularly the head of their little organization _arrogant blue fairy bitch that she was_.   This gesture was unexpected  . . . and unsettling, and she wondered if Lacey French knew about the donation or if it had all been the Spinner’s idea.  A few months ago she wouldn’t have thought that the Spinner would do anything without Belle’s blessing, but Regina was suspecting he had grown a bit of a backbone.  Regina tried to figure out what was in it for Ruel, but nothing immediately suggested itself.  If Belle did know, it was probably just another one of her gestures to clean up her act and look more like an upstanding member of the community – rather than the heartless, grasping bitch Regina knew her to be.  Again the Spinner seemed to be impacting on Belle, softening her up, making her, well, like a nice person.

Regina spent the rest of the day shopping for a couple of clothes changes, undergarments, a new computer and, of course, a new phone.  There had been several phone calls and a new car was on its way.  It had been exhausting but Robert had gallantly and willingly provided her chauffeur services for all her errands, waiting like the gentleman he apparently was while she tried to shop but found herself settling.  At the end of the day, now dressed in a red cotton sundress she might not have gotten except Robert told her it suited her, Regina turned to him.

“Is that supper offer still good?” she asked him.

“Of course,” Robert told her with a smile and she got back into his old Chevy truck.  He drove her over to the bookstore and Belle gave her the promised key to the rental car, a Kia, an apple red one.  Robert gave her directions to his house and said he’d be going right there after he picked up his son Roland from his Daycare. He'd be expecting her.

Regina chatted briefly with Belle.  “I heard you fell and hit your head,” she told her.

“Kind of you to take an interest in someone else.  I did have a fall. I guess I was over-tired.  Whale says it was a little concussion and I’m to rest and take things slowly.”

Regina had to smirk.  “Not an easy thing to do,” she replied.

Belle looked at her and there was a tiny moment the two women connected.  “Got that right.  I’m not used to be waited on and sitting around all day.  I can start resuming some of my regular activities tomorrow but he wants me to wait two weeks before he’ll give me a green light to get back to normal.”

“Whale’s an idiot,” Regina said shortly. But then she considered the care he had given her.  “But I guess a decent enough doctor.” 

“I guess,” Belle told her. 

“I see you have a wine license,” Regina observed.  It was hard to miss, displayed prominently on the wall behind the register.  “And also, I see the bookstore is being expanded.”  Also hard to miss were the early stages of construction – the door being widened, a window enlarged, walls getting ready for painting.

“Yes, Elias has decided to increase the café services.  The community seems ready for a coffee and wine bar.”

“Elias decided?” Regina asked.

“It was his decision,” Belle confirmed.  Belle looked Regina in the eye again.  “He’s not my servant or my toady, Regina.  I love the man.  We talk together a lot and I try to encourage and support him in his decisions.  It’s rather nice, having someone you can depend on.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Regina replied. 

“You and Mr. Forrest seem to be getting along well,” Belle said quietly. 

Regina hesitated.  “He’s a nice man," she admitted.

Belle chuckled.  “A pleasant change for you then.”    

Regina gave her a tight smile and went out to the little Kia.  It was hard to miss.  A deep Red Delicious Apple red color.  It didn’t drive at all like her Mercedes but she knew she’d have to deal with it for a few days.   

Regina followed Robert’s directions and found her way to his little house.  It was nestled in the woods, away from the town and the main road.  It was built of stone and Regina wondered if it might have originally been a castle when it was in the Enchanted Forest. 

Roland, Robert’s four-year-old son, was excited to have a guest, meeting her at the door.  He was an attractive child who fixed his gaze steadily on Regina.

“You pretty,” he finally told her.

Regina nearly blushed.  “Why thank you, kind sir,” she told him.  “You’re quite the handsome lad yourself.” 

Roland pulled a face and was about to make a reply when his father spoke.

“Complimenting a lady guest on her appearance.  Good move son.  I was about to tell her she was beautiful but you beat me to it.  Miss Gina will be our guest for supper, Roland, so remember what we talked about,” he reminded Roland. 

Roland nodded and, once she was inside, he began to show Regina around the place, the living room, his own bedroom, the back yard.  Robert had already started cooking when the two returned to the kitchen. 

Once they were back in the kitchen, Roland showed Regina how they would use leftover hot dog buns, buttered and toasted, as a side for this particular spaghetti meal.  He also showed her how he helped make the salad for the meal – Roland was responsible for tearing the lettuce and washing it off.  Following little Roland’s instructions, Regina cut up tomatoes and cucumber to add to the salad.  In a short while Regina sat at the kitchen table eating the plain salad, the spaghetti with heated jarred sauce and sawdust enhanced Parmesan from a green cardboard container along with the toasted buttered hot dog buns.  They had grocery store red wine (Roland got grape juice) to drink.

Robert explained that this was one of his son’s favorite meals. And also, because her presence made it special, Robert had added some chocolate ice cream for dessert (rather than a piece of fruit) much to Roland’s delight.  Roland announced that he wanted Miss Gina to eat with them every night. 

Regina had been prepared to choke her way through the pedestrian food, but surprisingly found it delicious.  She had the sudden thought that this could easily become one of her own favorite meals.  It certainly was one of the best meals that she had eaten in a while. 

_Perhaps it was the company._

She waited while Robert gave the child a quick bath (Roland hated baths and required supervision to be sure he was actually washing).  Roland, now clad in Spiderman pajamas, then asked if Miss Gina would read to him and Regina, without much confidence, began reading several selected short books to the child.  Roland settled in next to her, snuggling under her arm and she was surprised to find he was soon enough breathing softly, his eyes closed.

“Give me a moment,” Robert told her and scooped up the sleeping child to carry him on to bed.

When he returned, Robert was smiling.  “You are such a natural,” he told Regina. 

“I didn’t have any idea what I was doing,” she confessed. 

Robert poured a second glass of red wine for her and they sat together in his living room.  “You were just being yourself. For a change,” he said with a smile.  “It was nice to see.”

Regina drank her wine.  “This was wonderful.  You’ve been wonderful,” she told him.  “I . . . I think I need to be heading back.”  _Why was it feeling so warm in the room?_

“Sure.  We’ll have another evening soon.  I grill a mean hamburger and Roland can show you his tree house.”

Regina gathered up her things. “Belle’s already texted me that everything has been taken care of with me getting a new car and all.”  She hesitated feeling suddenly awkward and shy, “I really appreciate everything you did for me yesterday and today, including . . . especially . . . the saving my life thing.”  She was sincere and subdued.

“My job.  My pleasure,” he told her. 

It was decidedly, uncomfortably hot standing in his hallway of his little house. Regina gave him a quick smile and scooted out to dash over to her little rental car.  She took a couple of deep breaths before cranking it up and heading back to the apartments.

_That was different, she told herself.  It wasn’t anything at all what she’d thought she’d wanted with a man._

_It was much, much better._   

\+ + + + + +

The following day, Regina sat in her office in her some of her new clothes.  She knew she still had so much she needed to do to get things back on track.  Robert had stopped by earlier and taken her out once more to the still smoldering ruins of her house.  She wanted to see about salvaging what she could, but it seemed a total loss – her possessions, her clothes, her art work, her computer, everything, everything gone.   Well, almost everything gone.  Regina had found some china, some jewelry, just odd bits that had amazingly survived both the fire and the ensuing collapse of the building. 

Back in her office, she sat and thought things through.  She realized she couldn’t ignore all the mounting evidence.  The Curse was weakening.  She wished she could consult with another sorceress, but all the ones here had no memories of being sorceresses.  Had Belle inserted something into the Curse that would make it weaken, perhaps even, perhaps crack it open?  She knew Belle had had a hand in the weaving of the spell – the most powerful Curse ever created would have naturally involved the talents of the most powerful magic wielder of the age. 

She reviewed the David Nolen case. He’d been lying in a coma at the hospital for the past eighteen years and little Miss Blanchard had been coming to see him once a week to read to him.  He’d suddenly come to and had walked out of the hospital.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), he’d been found before he’d hurt himself and he’d been returned to the hospital.  This was never supposed to have happened.  He was supposed to have died but somehow, not being quite dead when the Curse hit, he’d gotten transported to the hospital’s ICU unit and had lain there, in a vegetative state for eighteen years.  When Regina had first found out he was alive, she’d been livid, but after visiting him, she was very satisfied.  _An excellent way for him to spend eternity._

But now he’d awakened.

She also considered the arrival of The Stranger.  With the shielding around the town, strangers did not just appear in Storybrooke.  Somehow with this girl’s appearance, things had rapidly begun to fall apart.  Regina couldn’t help but blame her for precipitating the flow of events that lead to her house burning down.  Somehow she thought that Belle must have had some role in this girl sticking around.

Regina suddenly suspected something. 

_Did Belle know?  Was she aware?  Had she been playing Regina this entire time?  Had she had her memories all along?  Had she recently gotten them back?  Or was she still oblivious and this was all just coincidence?_

Regina was not one to believe in coincidence and she was certainly not one to leave things to chance. 

She would need to visit with Belle and feel her out.  Regina considered.  She needed leverage. 

_What might possibly bring the Dark One to heel?  Was there anything or anyone that she held so precious that she would be willing to make a deal to protect it?_

Regina looked over at the salvaged items from her house and smiled.

\+ + + + + +

She stopped by the bookstore that afternoon.  Belle was still sitting in her comfy chair in a dark corner of the Spinner’s bookstore.  She looked up as Regina clattered in. 

“Lacey, darling.  How are you doing today?” Regina asked solicitously.

Belle looked her over.  _What was she up to?_   “I’m quite well Regina.  Anything else I can do for you?  The application for new funds to replace your house has been sent in and we should hear back very soon.  And your car should be delivered in a couple of days.”

“That’s all fine.  No complaints,” Regina replied and pulled up a chair to sit close to the other woman.  “I actually came by to ask your opinion.”

Lacey didn’t say anything.  She knew Regina was up to something.

“Robert and I were able to spend some time going through the rubble that’s left of my house.  It will be bull-dozed shortly and I’ll rebuild on the same site.  It’s amazing what we were able to find going through the rubble.”  Regina reached into the cheap purse she’d bought as a temporary replacement to her usual Vuitton.  “I think I might have picked up these things from an estate sale, some jewelry and another curious piece.  I don’t even remember having them.  I did so want to get your opinion on them,” Regina smiled at her as she produced a silver chain with a small odd-shaped pendant hanging on it.

Belle froze.  She instantly recognized The Necklace.  It had been the one Regina had torn from Rumple’s neck so long ago when he was leaving his village, the one that would have allowed him to call on her for help.  She had given it back to Belle pre-Curse, but Belle had not been able to find it here in Storybrooke.

_Late last night, after Elias had dropped off to sleep, Belle had managed to locate The Dagger, up in her attic, still in the plain wooden box she had always kept it in.  She had taken it to her basement and locked it in a safe – and then locked the safe up in an underground vault, a hidden underground vault.  She had then hidden the safe key in plain sight on a key ring of about thirty keys which she usually kept on her person.  The vault key she kept in a fire proof safe she had for stray cash and important papers that was in the living room behind one of her pictures.  This safe had a combination lock._

Belle schooled her face and stilled the desire to reach over to snatch the necklace away from Regina.

“I’ll look at it,” and she held out her hand.

Regina slowly dropped the necklace into Belle’s hand.  Belle couldn’t stop herself from trembling as she examined the talisman.  _Yes, yes, this was The Necklace.  It had been taken from Rumple and then Regina had given it back to her, telling her that Rumple was dead.  When The Curse was enacted, it had disappeared._

“It’s interesting,” she said neutrally.  “Where did it come from?”

“I just found it lying in the rubble.  Must have been part of a collection of old jewelry that I’d forgotten I had.”

“Probably just an odd charm that someone fancied.  These were pretty common in the late fifties and this one appears to have sterling mountings.  It may have some modest value.”

“Does it now?” Regina held her hand out to take the necklace back.  Belle held on to it. 

“What’s the other piece you found?” Belle asked.

“Oh, it looks like it might be some old Wedgewood but it was damaged, a bad chip on the rim.  Not part of my china collection.”  And Regina reached into her purse and pulled out . . .  the chipped cup.

“Interesting.”  _Belle thought hard.  The link between Rumple, herself and The Necklace was easy but how had Regina known about The Cup?  Unless . . . Belle recalled the one afternoon Regina had dropped by the Dark Castle.  She had been drinking from the little cup at the time. It was a distinctive item and Regina had always been good at making connections.  Likely she was playing a hunch._

“The chip, of course, completely destroys whatever value the thing might have.  But I fancied that the little charm was perhaps the missing chip and was wondering why the two might have been kept together.  Tokens from some lost love?” she speculated, watching Belle closely.

“Perhaps, since both pieces have been preserved.  Are you interested in selling them, individually or as a set?” Belle had to ask.

“I could be interested,” Regina smiled slowly.  _The Dark One was biting._

“What would you want for them?” Belle tried not to sound too interested.

“Your name,” Regina replied.

“My name?” Belle winced.  “Lacey French.” _Regina knew._

“Your real name.  You give me your real name and you can keep the necklace and the stupid cup.”

Belle considered.  Regina would figure it out soon enough.  Perhaps it would be in her best interest for Regina to know the truth. 

“Well?” Regina asked her.

Belle sat for a long moment before making eye contact with Regina.  “Belle,” she answered.  “I’m the Dark Lady Belle.”

“Oh yes,” Regina purred.  “You certainly are.  Keep your little trinkets.  Enjoy your little Spinner.”  Regina leaned forward.  “Just stay out of my way.”  And she flounced out of the shop.

Belle clutched the necklace and the cup.  They were such small things but she’d always felt they had created a connection between Rumple and herself.  He’d been so afraid when he chipped the cup and she had abruptly realized the depths of his terror.  Her own true self had risen and shushed the Dark One and reassured the humble man.  The cup had always served as a reminder of a part of her that had been buried deeply – her human soul.  As for the necklace it had been meant to keep Rumple safe.  It had failed miserably, having been torn off of him by a knowledgeable and particularly evil foe but it was still part of their shared history.  She was curious how her Spinner would react when she showed it to him.

\+ + + + +

It had been more than a week.  Belle had been pronounced recovered from the concussion and was now back driving and working her usual schedule.

Meanwhile at Shakespeare and Company, the backroom had been re-fitted with tables and chairs and electrical outlets.  They had installed modest new kitchen equipment, including a refrigeration case.  They had taken out part of the back wall to put in a new large window.  It opened up onto Elias’s little garden and offered a pleasant view (Belle had thought they might eventually expand the garden area into some outdoor seating).  They had widened the door into the back room, but kept Elias’s curtain divider, liking the charm the textiles gave to the place.  They had also acquired a full-time employee at the bookstore in the form of Bryson who had jumped for the job.  It had paid more than his two part-time jobs put together and required fewer hours.  It was also easier work, once he had mastered the modest array of coffee drinks that the bookstore offered.  He was a naturally friendly young man and easily interacted with the different groups that came through. 

Elias and Belle had both been surprised one morning when the group of highschoolers that usually went to the Diner showed up in the bookstore to get their morning coffee.  Bryson had drawn them in with his good looks and easy smile.  One of the girls bought a fashion magazine along with her coffee. 

Once the students had left, Belle had turned to Elias.  “Did you see that?  It’s already beginning to pay for itself,” she told him.  “Bryson was a good hire.”

“Well, you were the one to recommend him,” Elias had told her. 

“He’s a nice young man.  You may want to chat with him when he’s not so busy.” 

Belle watched and a group from the Weaver’s Knot came in a bit later in the morning.  They not only got coffee, but also some of the cheesecake Elias had started to carry.  Several of them also bought some magazines on knitting.

“It seems like the new business plan is going well,” Belle observed.

“It does seem that way,” he responded, his eyes warm and his smile genuine.

“I’m so glad,” she told him and reached across the table to hold his hand.  She hesitated _but no time like the present. She’d held onto the necklace more than a week._ “I have a little something I thought you might like.”  She handed him the necklace.  “It’s been in my family for awhile, and was always like a token . . . of affection and trust.  I had . . . I had thought I’d lost it.  Of all people, our ever delightful mayor came across it and she returned it to me.  I thought . . .” Belle felt suddenly shy.  “I thought you might like it.”

He took it from her and looked at the odd piece.  “It’s unusual.”  He examined it and looked at her, puzzled.  “It looks like it’s a bit of porcelain, perhaps a chip from something that’s been mounted on silver?”

“I don’t. . . I don’t know,” she lied. 

There was a long moment when he looked the tiny charm over.  “It’s odd. Not something I’ve ever told anyone . . . .” It was his turn to be hesitant.

Belle waited patiently.

“I’ve . . . I’ve had the most peculiar dreams recently.” He gave a short laugh, “I’ve been sitting in front of a large spinning wheel, the kind you would find in Sleeping Beauty and . . .  I guess, I’m spinning.”  He laughed in an embarrassed manner.  “The movements seem natural to me, like something I’ve done before.  And you are there, but you look . . .  different.”

“How different?” she asked him.

He seemed embarrassed.  “You have darker hair and darker skin.  And your eyes are different.”  He got quiet.  “You are drinking from a cup that has a bad chip in it.” He held up the necklace.  “This is the odd part, but this could be the missing piece.”

“Would you like it?  It’s a family thing.  It has only a modest value, mostly sentimental,” she drifted off.  _Would he take it or give it back?_

“It’s lovely,” he told her and put it over his head, then slipping it into his shirt.  “Thank you.”

\+ + + + +

It was a busy Saturday afternoon.  The weather had begun to turn off from the bitter cold of winter, but was still cool enough that people were open to getting themselves a leisurely hot cup of coffee or a glass of crisp wine in the afternoon at the bookstore.  Elias had finished refurbishing the back room.  He had opted to retain his own name for the place, making The Back Room into a warm and friendly snack bar with coffee, tea, chocolate and now wine to drink and a variety of cookies, baked bars, cheesecake and other sweet temptations to eat.  Bryson had proven to be a great host for the weekend crowd and, Belle thought, his pleasant looks and pleasing personality brought in various types of clientele, from giggling high school girls to members of the football team, not to mention Storybrooke’s variation of cougars, older women with spouses at home who still liked to look at a handsome young man.   The regulars, those that had been getting coffee with him before the expansion, continued to remain loyal.  And now there were others coming in.  And now Elias had more time to sit and talk with the Colonel.  He and Bryson both found the older man quite interesting. 

The Colonel would tell them war stories.  He encouraged Bryson’s military ambitions, urging the younger man to consider flight school.  Bryson listened and did seem to be increasingly interested in what the older man had to share.  The Colonel then would ask Bryson questions about his aunt, what kinds of flowers she liked, if he thought she might like to go out for a bite to eat, and such.  Bryson quickly grasped that the Colonel was interested in his aunt and set up a date for the two.

_About time that relationship began to get off the ground, Elias had thought.  They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, months now._

“You’d be all right if your aunt got remarried?” Elias asked the younger man later that day after the Colonel had left.

“Well, if I do go off and join the military, I’d want for her to be taken care of.  I wouldn’t want her to be lonely.  And . . . I like the Colonel.  And I think she likes him,” Bryson told him.

Elias found himself liking Bryson.  The young man was the same age his son would have been and whenever that memory came up he would feel his heart clench.  Bryson was bright and serious.  He shared with Elias that he had lost his mother when he was four and his father when he was eight.  He had lived with his great aunt since that time and the two seemed to get on well together.  He didn’t have a girlfriend, explaining that he’d felt the need to focus on his studies and on earning money and had had no time left over for the ladies.  He’d thought of college and was hoping that the military might help him with that. 

For his part, Bryson liked the older man.  He was quiet and careful in his words and actions.  Bryson quickly felt comfortable sharing ideas about the coffee shop with him and felt comfortable asking for advice whenever issues came up.

Belle watched the relationship blossom and began to feel a tiny bit better about her role in their estrangement.


	18. The Warder of the Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is disappointed.   
> Gold experiences a critical moment.   
> He and Miss French concoct a plan.

It was the first time Bryson had taken time off from his new job at The Back Room.  He had stayed out for part of the afternoon to take his aunt to a routine doctor’s appointment.  It was the same afternoon that Emma Swan happened to drop by the bookstore. 

Emma greeted Kari warmly and Elias watched with some interest as the cat tolerated her advances – _usually Kari would accept a couple of pats from patrons and then leap down from whatever perch she had taken and wander off, but the queen purred and rubbed into Emma’s hand, very pleased with the attentions she was receiving from the young woman._  Emma looked up from scratching the cat and spotted Elias.  She greeted him warmly and came over to him.  “I’m here to look for Miss French,” she told him.  “I have my rent money!” She seemed exuberant and Gold couldn’t help but smile.  _He knew the feeling of having one’s rent money._

“You could have run it by her office downtown,” Elias told her. 

“I know, but I had a little time off and I’ve been wanting to get by your bookstore ever since I hit town.”  Emma was looking all around, taking everything in.  Then she grinned at him, “And I know she comes by here regularly.”

Elias looked closely at the young woman, remembering how she had looked when she had first walked into town.  She was still dressed simply in jeans and a teeshirt with Doc Martin rip-off shoes and she still wore a red leather jacket.  She didn’t seem nearly as wary as she had been when she had first come to town.  She wasn’t wearing her backpack or any overcoat.    

“How about some coffee on the house?” he asked her, limping behind the counter to fix her some.

“Plain coffee sounds excellent,” she told him.  “Thanks.”  She sat down at one of the little tables while he prepped her drink and fixed himself one at the same time.

“How’s it going?” he asked her sitting down next to her with both drinks.

“Pretty well.  This is the first time in a while that I’ve had a regular income.  I have plenty to eat working in the Diner, a dry, warm place to sleep.  I feel safe.  I feel good.” She was actually smiling at him.   

“That is a good feeling,” he told her sipping his coffee.

She looked at him.  “You’ve been poor and needy.  I can tell.  You understand.”

“I guess I do,” he said softly.  Emma was still looking around the bookstore as if . . .  as if she were looking for somebody.  Elias finally took pity on her and let her know, “He’s had to take the afternoon off to take his aunt to the doctor’s.”

Emma gave him an embarrassed smile.  “Am I that obvious?  Everyone keeps telling me that I need to meet your barista, but he never gets by the Diner and I can’t seem to get by here.  I was hoping. . . “

“I’ll see if I can’t find an errand to the Diner that I can send him on one day,” Elias allowed her.  “Was that the real reason you came by?”

“Well, I actually do have my rent money,” and she took a sip of the coffee.  “Nice coffee,” she complimented him.

The two sat quietly for a moment.  Elias had formed his own opinion of the young woman, assuming she was probably running away from something but he didn’t judge her for that.  Some things should be run away from. 

“You were the one who suggested that Miss French rent me the apartment, weren’t you?” Emma suddenly asked and when he nodded, she went on.  “Thanks, I would have slept in a dumpster if she hadn’t come through or, if they felt they could trust me, in the back room of the Diner.”

She took another sip of the coffee.  “You’re a very interesting man, Mr. Gold,” she told him.  “I have good instincts about people and I think there may be more to you than what is seen at first glance.  I’m not sure you’re the simple bookstore owner you appear to be.  You and Miss French are quite the item I understand, otherwise I might be asking you out.”

Elias nearly spewed his coffee.  “Miss Swan, are you even of legal age?”

“I’m old enough to know what I like,” she told him.

“So then, no.  Well, I can assure you that an attractive, vibrant young woman like yourself can do better than a middle-aged, struggling small-town businessman.”

Emma grinned at him.  “Oh, I’m sure there are a lot of things you could teach me,” she told him sweetly.

“Perhaps, but I would urge you to stick with a younger man, someone such as Bryson, the missing barista,” he cautioned her. 

“Sure thing, but if you and Miss French ever decide to call it quits . . .”  She was still grinning at him.

“Never happen,” he told her _not quite believing that it couldn’t all fall apart in an instance._

She might have said something more, but Miss French came in and Emma leaped up.  “Thanks, you are such a dear,” she told him and, impulsively, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Miss French, Miss French,” she called out leaving the stunned Elias sitting ramrod still in his chair.  “I have my rent money.  And I want to paint the place and want to see if I could get a deduction on the rent for the paint.  I’d do the work for free,” she began talking with Belle who took the rent money and nodded. 

Belle considered the offer -- _after all this had been part of her original plan_.  “All those apartments need painting, Miss Swan.  Tell you what, let me inspect the job you do in your own apartment and if it looks good, I’ll see what we can work out about having you paint the other apartments.”

“I would be sooo interested,” Emma told her and waved good bye. 

Belle came over to Elias who was sitting silently in his coffee shop.  “Should I be jealous?” she asked.  “I saw that little cheek kiss.”

Elias Gold didn’t respond.

“Elias?” There was no response.   Belle asked again, “Elias?  Are you all right?”

“I’m . . .  not,” he answered slowly.  He was trembling, blinking his eyes, breathing shallowly.  He looked at her, his eyes struggling to focus.  He was clearly confused.  “You’re . . . you’re . . . Milady,” he told her, his eyes wide.  “You’re Belle.” 

“You remember!” she sat down taking his hand into hers. 

“Pieces,” he spoke slowly.  “It’s all so blurry. You’re the Dark One.  I’m your servant.”

“You’re my beloved,” she corrected.  “You started out as my servant, but you won my heart, such as it was,” she told him. She suddenly realized that she was crying. 

He looked at her, his hand gently reaching up to graze the side of her face, his thumb wiping off her tears.  His fingers strayed into her dark copper curls, and he looked at the shining ringlets in wonderment as her hair wrapped of its own accord around his fingers.  “You . . . you are more beautiful here than you were back home.  I didn’t think it possible.  Have you known the whole time?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “Only since Emma came to town.  When I heard her name, it all came back.”

“Oh yes,” he remembered.  “You passed out.”  He took several breaths before he continued, “Now I understand.  I feel like doing the same thing.”

“Do you need to lie down somewhere?” she asked him concerned.  There was a small sofa in the café area.

Rumple shook his head _no._ Then he suddenly sucked in a large breath, “Oh my god!  Bryson . . . Bryson is my son and Miss Maggie, she’s my Aunt Marjorie!” he was panting, struggling to breath.

Belle didn’t say anything for a while.  Finally, “Can you ever forgive me?” she asked.

“What?” he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“What I did?”

“What?  What did you do?” he asked.  When she didn’t answer, he looked up and saw her sitting, small and dejected.  Still struggling with the abrupt tsunami of memories, he refocused a moment on her.  He raised his hand to gesture to her, “Come here.”  There were no other customers in the shop and he didn’t like her seeming upset.  He wanted to help her.  She came over to him and he pulled her down into his lap.  _He liked it when she sat in his lap.  He felt he was able to show her how precious she was to him._  

Belle leaned into him and she let him just hold her for a long moment.

“I took you away from your family,” she told him in a small voice.  “Can you forgive me?”

He stroked his fingers up her arm.  “There is nothing to forgive, my Belle.  If you hadn’t taken me in, the wolves would have killed me.”

“But I could have helped you without demanding a price, or a price so high,” she confessed, tears welling up again.  _She liked sitting in his lap.  It had always made her feel cherished and special._

“I knew when I decided to take the path by your castle what I was risking.  I made the offer of half of all I had.  Taking me in and then helping my family out as you did – I think it was a fair arrangement.  I understand better than most that magic has a price.  I’m not angry with you.”

She didn’t say anything for a while and he sensed she had more to confess.  “I made . . . I made the weather turn off bad and lured the wolves in.  I . . . I had seen you on the road and I needed someone to help keep my place clean and I . . .  maybe, I wanted some company too.  And once you were in the castle, you were so kind and grateful and . . . and,” she lowered her voice, “I thought you were attractive.  I liked your eyes.  I didn’t want to let you go.”  She looked up at him, “If I hadn’t done those things, you would have probably passed on by and taken all your money and set things up better for your household.”

He shook his head.  “Without your help, my family would still likely have starved, if not the next winter, then the next. Money is not always the most useful thing to have when crops have failed and the weather is bleak.  Times were hard all around,” he told her.  “I can’t be angry with you.”

“You sure?” she asked, a single tear running down her cheek.  He kissed it off amazed at seeing the Dark One cry.

“I’m very sure,” he re-assured her and placed another soft kiss on her cheek.

“I’ve been trying to make it up to you,” she told him looking down at her hands in her lap.

“That’s why you encouraged me to hire Bryson.  Oh, Milady, how can I ever thank you?”

“No need to thank me.  He’s a very nice young man and was a good choice for your shop,” she told him.  “It was just icing that he happened to be your son.”

Now, he had tears in his eyes.  “Thank you. Thank you.  That was very kind of you to bring us together.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  You know you can’t be too fatherly with the boy.  You’ll freak him out,” she warned him and leaned in again to kiss him just to the side of his ear.

He pulled back, looked at her and blinked.  “’Freak him out’?  That’s how the Dark Lady of the Enchanted Forest talks now?” He nearly chuckled, but then he nodded in agreement.  “You are right.  I’ll have to watch myself.”  He thought a moment.  “Anyone else know? . . . anyone else know that you know?”

“Regina knows,” Belle told him.  “And she knows that I know. Your cat knows.  I think the dogs know.  And I’m pretty sure that Jefferson knows.”

“Jefferson?  Well, that would explain some of the things he’s said and done.  Does this mean . . .?  Does this mean the Curse is breaking?” he asked.

“Yes,” Belle told him.  “I wove into the spell a couple of ways that the Curse could be broken.  Miss Emma Swan is one of the ways, the most powerful, most sure way to break the Curse.”

“Well, it’s obvious that it’s not just her arrival in town that will break the Curse.  What does she need to do?” he asked.  And now he kissed her on the neck, delighting in the little shivers he knew he was causing her.

“She needs to find her True Love and kiss him,” Belle shared.  “That will break the Curse.”

Rumple nodded.  “Great.  And who is her True Love?” he asked.

“I haven’t any idea,” Belle smiled at him and shrugged.  “I’m trying to have every man in town pass in front of her.  Working at the Diner helps but not everyone goes there.  I don’t know what else we might do.”

Rumple considered.  He kissed her directly on the mouth and then, reluctantly, he shifted Belle off of his lap and got up.  He went to his window and pulled off an advertisement that had been posted there.  He set it in front of Belle.

“So, the nuns are having their yearly fund-raising event,” she read it aloud.  She pulled a face and looked up at Rumple, puzzled, not sure what he was getting at.

“I know,” he told her.  “Not exactly your favorite people.”

“No,” she said shortly.

Rumple smiled indulgently, _understanding that she had deep feelings about the nuns._ He spoke up quickly, sharing his plan, “Listen for a moment, my dear.  This fund raising event.  The whole town will turn out.  They are looking for a volunteers to run some of their booths.  Perhaps, with a well-placed word of encouragement, Miss Swan might be agreeable to selling tickets.  A lot of people would cross her path – that Fundraiser has nearly a hundred percent attendance.”  Then, as a joke, he suggested, “If only we could put her at a Kissing Booth.”

Belle sat quietly a moment and then, “Why can’t we?” she asked him.  “Why can’t we?”  And she considered a moment.  And in that moment, looking at his Lacey, now Milady, _his Belle_ , there was a moment when Rumple caught a glimpse of the Dark One, the cunning, the deep planning, the far-sighted.  “Why can’t we indeed?” she asked him, giving him her slow smile.   

“Well, I know I suggested it, but I can’t imagine the nuns would ever go for it – sounds like it would be too . . . too salacious for them to agree to.  And, and wouldn’t it create a lot of other problems?  Anyone she kissed, would they ‘wake up’ like I did?  That could be nearly half the town going off the deep end,” Rumple was now coming up with a list of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea.

“But if she meets and kisses her True Love, The Curse will be broken anyway and that’s what we want.  As for the nuns, maybe, just maybe, if they were approached the right way, the nuns just might go for it.  They would clean up with cash,” Belle muttered.

Rumple had to chuckle this time.  “Perhaps we should suggest the cash end to them.” 

“Yes,” she told him slowly, “yes.  I like the idea.  Even if I don’t like the nuns, it’s worth it to screw over Regina.”

“You don’t like the nuns?” he asked, giving her an opening.  “In this life, you don’t like the nuns?”

“They don’t like me,” she explained.  When he looked at her oddly _he knew much of why she didn’t like them, but why would a group of nuns not like anyone?_   Belle expounded.  “I tried to foreclose on them once . . . well, actually a couple of times, so they don’t like me.”

“Some carryover from the old country?” he asked wryly. 

“Maybe,” she admitted.  “Yeah.  Do you know how many times my people asked for their help against the ogres and got nothing?  They left my father desperate, desperate enough to call on The Dark One and I was desperate enough to surrender myself to him to save my people.  They abandoned my people when we needed their help most and left me to the predations of a monster.  It’s rather hard to forgive them.”   She took a breath before going on, “And how about your own people, left to fight the ogres, just as my people had done hundreds of years ago.  Did the fairies help you?  They could have.  But no, we weren’t important enough, we weren’t the Chosen Ones.  They left us, people like us, to die.”

“Old feelings die hard,” he shared and reached over to pat her arm. 

“Damn right they do,” she told him, her eyes sparkling in her anger.  Then she took a calming breath and continued, “I do like your plan.  Can you see if Miss Swan might be interested in helping out the nuns?  Let her know it will aggravate Regina; she doesn’t like the nuns on general principle.”

“Why me?”

“Emma likes you.  You’re like a father-figure to her,” Belle told him. 

“She told me that if I wasn’t seeing you, she’d ask me out, so I don’t know about the father-figure thing,” he confessed to her a trifle embarrassed. “I don’t know that she was serious but it was a bit awkward.”

“Get out?!  I don’t know if I would have ever predicted that,” Belle said.  _What possible connection could there be between her sweet Spinner and the young Savior?_  She shrugged, “Well, maybe daddy issues then.  Either way, I think she’ll do things for you that she might not do for anyone else.”

“But what about getting the nuns to agree?” Rumple asked her.  “A Kissing Booth is going to be over the top for them.  From what I’ve seen, they’re a little uptight about such things.”

“Uptight?” Belle repeated his word.  “They’re sanctimonious prigs.”  She then smiled brilliantly at him.  “But I believe if I ask Mother Superior very, very nicely, she’ll agree.”

\+ + + + + +

The next morning, the Spinner, Rumplestiltskin, Elias Gold as he was now called, decided to get breakfast at the Diner.  Bryson-Bae was over minding his shop and he felt quite comfortable leaving the young man in charge for a brief time. 

It wasn’t that he wanted breakfast but he did want to _need to_ talk with Miss Swan.  He thought that connecting with her while she was on the job would be his best opportunity for finding some time to talk with her without compromising his virtue.

Granny had come by to chat with him.  “Good riddance to all those teenagers.  You’re welcomed to ‘em.  They never tipped and kept wanting refills,” she told him.  “They kept away other customers too.  Glad they’re your problem now.”

“I’m charging them more for their coffee.  I can do that because I don’t call it coffee,” he told her brightly.  “And we don’t offer refills so they’re ordering the larger sizes.  But you are right, they don’t ever tip,” he confirmed.

Miss Swan came by to take his order.  He wasn’t used to ordering breakfast out.  He wasn’t used to getting a meal at a restaurant without Milady . . . without Miss French.  He was a little overwhelmed with his options. 

“What’s good?” he asked Miss Swan who had come by to get his order after dropping some coffee off for the good sheriff.

“It’s all good,” she assured him.

“Statistically unlikely.  What would you eat if you came in here for breakfast?”

She leaned over him.  “Probably Number Three, eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns.  It’s the most popular breakfast.”

He nodded, “I’ll have that then.”  He watched the pretty young woman as she walked away to put in his order.  He had begun to think of her as The Savior, someone who would break Regina’s Curse.  She just had to find her True Love.  He had always thought of Storybrooke as a tiny, provincial town but now, for the first time, he despaired that there were far too many eligible young men in the town.  

 _Of course, as pretty as she was, the young men were likely flocking around her._   He looked around.  Not having a frame of reference, he didn’t know how many of these people had already been regulars prior to her arrival, but there certainly were a fair number of men in the Diner.  There was Sheriff Graham, whom he hadn’t known from the Enchanted Forest.  He did, of course, recognize his friend Jeff Madden, the high school science teacher, whom he had known as the Hatter; a friend in the old country and a friend here.  He had been one of Milady’s visitors, a magic user _and currently a beer drinking buddy and someone who had his old memories_.  They had nodded at each other when he came in. There was also Leroy Colvig, the miner from Belle’s village _although he couldn’t see Leroy as anyone’s True Love_.  There were a number of others that he didn’t recognize from the old country or from Storybrooke.

However, the others weren’t all young, attractive men.  There was plenty of older men, such as the Colonel, who had been his Aunt’s fiancé _and who was still actively pursuing Miss Maggie._

Not a vast sample.  Of all those present, perhaps Graham and perhaps Jefferson were the best options. They seemed to like her but she was not reciprocating.  

Regina Mills came in while he was waiting for his food.  She saw him, narrowed her eyes, and stopped by the table.

“Odd to see you here, Elias,” she addressed him familiarly.  “You’re not having breakfast with Lacey?  Trouble in paradise?”

“She had an early morning appointment and I thought I’d get some breakfast here before opening up,” he told her.  _Not strictly true – Belle was going to see Mother Superior later than morning and they had agreed Rumple would have better luck with Emma if he saw her alone._

“The food here is awful,” Regina warned him. 

“Don’t you come here every morning?” he asked.

“It’s the only game in town.  I certainly can’t cook anything in that rat trap Lacey’s put me in.”

“So you’re not getting breakfast with our esteemed Fire Chief?”

“Robert is rather conservative about some things,” Regina surprisingly confided to him.  “He’s got a young son and wants to preserve the proprieties.” Then she added, “I have started going over to his house on Saturday mornings and having breakfast then.”

“He’s a good man, Regina,” Rumple told her. 

“That’s more than I might ever say about Lacey,” Regina was back to her old self.

“And more than what she’d say about you.”  Rumple’s breakfast had arrived, Emma and Regina side-stepping each other.  For a brief moment he was concerned that Regina might sit down next to him and was relieved when she went to a table by a window, the other table evidently being _her_ seat.  Ruby waited on her. 

Rumple ate his breakfast finding it adequate but not as good as his own cooking.  He waited patiently until there was a lull and signaled for Miss Swan to come over. 

“Problem?” she asked him.

“No, sit down for a moment, please,” he asked her. 

“I’m on the job,” she told him.

“This will just take a moment,” he assured her. 

“’Sup?” she asked, shrugging and slipping into the booth next to him.  “Not reconsidering taking me out, are you?”

He smiled and shook his head.  “Not hardly dearie.”  He sat back and looked at her.  “And frankly, I think it’s all bluff.   If I did ask you out, I believe you’d run away.”

She smirked at him. “Probably.  Maybe instead, I should start thinking of you as someone who can give me fatherly advice, like tell me that my pants are too tight and I’m wearing too much mascara.”    

“They are and you are,” he told her shortly.  “But none of that is what I wanted to talk to you about.”  He took a sip of coffee and started again, “How would you like to help raise money for a worthy cause, meet a lot of eligible young men and truly irritate Regina just as a little bonus?” he asked her.

She slowly smiled at him. 

After explaining the situation, he was gratified when Miss Swan agreed to work with the nuns.  She thought it would fun, raise money for a worthy cause and was a good way to meet some _age-appropriate_ men.  Rumple had to hope that Belle would have equally good luck approaching the nuns.  She seemed very sure of herself that it would be accomplished, but he was still thinking there was no way they would go for the Kissing Booth.


	19. To Believing Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a chat with the Mother Superior.  
> Gold has a serious talk with Belle.  
> Regina prepares a meal.

 

The same morning that Rumple sat in Granny’s diner and was persuading young Emma Swan to work at a Kissing Booth to raise funds for the nuns, Belle found herself in an unusual position.

The annual Fundraiser was fast approaching. Belle had never supported the nuns in any manner for any amount of time and would have cheerfully evicted (and eviscerated) them if they had not paid their rent, fully, and in a timely manner. What she was about to do would be a major mid-stream course change.

She was going to approach the Mother Superior with an offer to help with the Fundraiser -- a generous offer should throw the Blue Bug off her game. As she stood in Ruel’s foyer, waiting for the woman to grant her an audience, Belle wondered if Blue had squirrelled something into the Curse so that she retained her own memories, but somehow doubted it. Blue hadn’t been able to get Snow and Charming’s True Love potion into the Curse so it would have been surprising if she could have gotten retention of her own memories into the damned thing.

Once Blue came in, Belle became more focused on the fund raising affair. One thing she already knew was that the nuns needed people with carpentry skills to construct the booths. She had already talked it over with Rumple who had agreed to help with this, perhaps getting his son involved -- anything to appear agreeable and increase the likelihood of The Kissing Booth happening. Rumple had also thought it likely that he could get Jefferson and Robert involved with the construction task.

“What will you be offering this year?” Belle had asked offhandedly as she sat down in Ruel’s plain but comfortable little office. She had come by officially to collect their rent. Belle then had handed back a generous portion _for the Fundraiser_ she’d told Ruel – _I would appreciate it if you would keep the donation anonymous._ Ruel barely managed to recover from her astonishment, but the gesture had seemed to put her in a good mood. Still the woman remained obviously suspicious of Belle’s motives – _some vestige of her Enchanted Forest instincts likely kicking into high gear._

“The usual offerings,” Mother Superior had sighed answering Belle’s question. “We will sell our candles and our soaps and our nursery plants. We’ll have the bouncy castle for the children. We have a couple of other places, some games of chance, face painting and such. The usual.”

“Have you considered renting out areas so that local crafts people can sell their wares?” Belle asked.

“No although that sounds like a good idea, but I don’t know that we have enough booths.”

“You don’t have to rent them a booth, Mother Superior,” Belle explained. “You could just rent them an area. Most of these people have their own tables, even their own tents that they can set up. You could rent an actual booth but do it at an additional cost.”

Mother Superior blinked. “That could work. Would there be enough time for these people to prepare?”

“I think so, at least for many of them. Often these local craft people are ready to go at the drop of a hat. I could get Mr. Gold to put up a couple of posters in Shakespeare and Company, and we can try other shops around town, such as in Granny’s Diner and Clark’s Drug Store, to advertise that you will be renting booths to crafters and other people who have something to sell. That should do it.”

“Ms. French, you have been very helpful,” she said it like it surprised her. “You have a reputation for being a somewhat . . . a somewhat,” Mother Superior was struggling for a descriptive word.

“A bitch?” Belle supplied.

Mother Superior had the grace to blush. “I guess that some of what has passed between us before was all business. Perhaps I shouldn’t have judged you without getting to know you better myself.”

Belle did not make a response immediately. “I do have this one other idea, but it may be a bit over the top,” she said slowly.

Intrigued _and properly softened up_ , Mother Superior had to ask her for more information.

“We have several attractive young women in town. I thought it would be interesting to have something like a Kissing Booth. Perhaps charge as much as five dollars for a kiss, after all it is for a good charity,” she suggested watching the former fairy closely for her reaction.

Mother Superior appeared to be slightly scandalized and started to reject it out of hand.

Belle pursued the idea before she could refuse her, “Just imagine -- A Kissing Booth! It would be like something out of the fifties! I suspect there are any number of young women who would consider . . . uh . . . ‘manning’ it.”

“I don’t know,” Mother Superior was backing off.

“I really wish you would consider it. I think it would a big fund raiser. _Please_ . . . think about it and say yes.”

Mother Superior blinked and swallowed. “All right. We’ll do it,” she agreed.

_Belle was very happy, if not a bit surprised, that the ‘please’ geas had taken hold and worked as it should. Long ago, it had been her price from Blue for placing the True Love potion into the Curse scroll. She was most happy that this particular piece of magic had stayed intact across The Curse._

“Do you know any young women who would be interested?” Ruel then asked her.

“As a matter of fact, I think I can suggest several,” Belle told her.

Mother Superior looked at her for a moment. “Who are you thinking of?”

“I don’t know if you know the young woman. Miss Emma Swan. She came to town a short while ago, got a job in the Diner and has been renting from me, one of the old Library Apartments. I know Ms. Lucas has been pleased with her work and she’s paid her rent promptly – done a number of other small jobs in the apartments for me. She seems to be a fine, up-standing young woman.”

“I might consider her. I was afraid you were going to recommend the Lucas girl.”

“Well, actually I was thinking that she might also be interested,” Belle admitted.

“I’m sure she would be,” Mother Superior agreed dryly. “Miss Lucas seems to be very interested in young men.”

“And they’re interested in her. I would think she could raise quite a bit of money from prospective beaus.”

“Well, it would certainly be the talk of this year’s fair,” Mother Superior summed up her feelings.

Satisfied, Belle now felt that she had done what she could toward getting Miss Swan to cross paths with every eligible man in town, despite her actions also helping out a cause that benefited the nuns no less, _something that no doubt was causing the Dark One’s head to spin around and pop off._

\+ + + + + + + 

Bryson was moping. 

It was later that same morning. Bryson had managed the high schooler shift and had gotten things cleaned up waiting for the preschool crowd to descend on the bookstore. This was by far his least favorite of the groups Mr. Gold had coming in. They were like little locusts, running amok through the store, touching stuff, moving stuff around, terrorizing the cat, occasionally climbing onto displays and always monopolizing the bathroom in shifts. This particular preschool group were all part of a daycare class of young children sponsored by the nuns. They would settle in, more or less, when their teacher, Miss Astrid, would call them to order.

The shop now had Miss Mulan reading to them. She had replaced the very pregnant Ashley Boyd who’d finally had her little girl, a daughter. Ashley had actually (and finally) reconnected with her child’s father and they were actively seeing each other again.

Miss Mulan worked with Sheriff Graham and it had surprised everyone when she had volunteered for the Preschool Storytime. She had shrugged and shared that she thought it was good community relations and great training for handling out-of-control adults, especially young adults and teenagers. As Bryson thought it through, he realized that there was not much difference between the preschoolers and the high schoolers. Both had problems with emotional lability and both could be managed with food.

“Is there a problem?” Rumple asked the young man that he now knew as his son. He had noticed the moping.

“No, yeah. I guess so,” Bryson answered lamely.

Rumple waited.

“It’s strange. For a while now, I’ve felt that my life was spinning around and around, like I was a hamster in a wheel, running and running and running but not getting anywhere. I feel like I’ve been doing the same thing, day after day for. . . forever. But recently, I’ve felt things changing. I can’t explain it. I feel like there is something I need to do. Something important.”

Rumple listen to the young man _wanting just to bring him into an embrace, wanting to hold him and tell him . . . and be his father. He had missed . . . he hadn’t been there . . . ._

“You have time right now,” he told the younger man. “You have plenty of time. What is it you feel you have to do?” he asked.

“I . . . I . . . I don’t actually know. I thought I was preparing myself to enter the military. I’d always thought of myself as flying a stealth fighter or maybe becoming a navy seal or an army ranger. I think I could make the cut,” he made eye contact with Rumple. “But now.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s as if, suddenly, something else has become more important to me.”

“What has become more important?” Rumple asked his son.

Bryson hesitated. “That’s just it. I don’t know what it is. It’s like I’m supposed to do something. Something important. But I don’t know what it is. The more I try to figure it out, the further away it becomes. I’m so confused . . . and I was never confused before.” 

Rumple couldn’t stop himself. He reached over and laid his hand on Bryson’s wrist. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. When the time comes, you’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you, sir. I enjoy talking with you.” He hesitated. “You know, I never knew my father. He died when I was very young. My Aunt has been the only family I’ve ever had. But . . . since getting to know you . . . well, I hope it’s all right but I think of you as someone I can talk to, like I might have talked with my father.”

“It’s quite all right, Bryson,” Rumple told him, nearly choking up. “My own son died when he was very young. You two would have been about the same age. I think of you . . . “ he stopped himself -- _too much, too soon and too much._ “Well, I’m always happy to talk with you, as long as you think it helps.” 

He then remembered a promise he’d made to a certain young woman. “Listen Bryson. I need you to pick up a sheet cake from Granny’s. Why don’t you run over to the Diner and get it and I’ll take the preschool shift.”

“You sure sir? I know I complain about the little munchkins but I really don’t mind.”

“I’m pretty sure Miss Mulan can manage the preschoolers. She does carry a gun. And I really would appreciate you getting the cake. It’s hard for me to manage my cane and one of those big sheet cakes.”

Bryson grinned at him. “Great, I’ve been trying to get over to the Diner and meet that new waitress for weeks now.” He left out eagerly.

_Rumple watched the young man head out. He was damn near crying. He’d so wanted to reach out and tell this fine young man that he was his father, that he was proud to be his father. He wanted to tell him that he had sacrificed so much to ensure the best for him. And he was so, so sorry that he hadn’t been able to be there for him._

And now they were all trapped, trapped within the Dark Curse of a crazy, vindictive woman. A Curse, he knew, that was about to break -- _he hoped was about to break_.

What would happen after the Curse broke? Would they be returned to the Enchanted Kingdom? Would they stay here in Storybrooke? Could they leave Storybrooke for the larger outside world? Would they have magic again? 

He needed to ask Belle about this.

As Bryson walked over to the Diner, he noticed a leather-clad stranger on a motorcycle pulling into town, taking up one of the parking places in front of the Inn. 

_Odd, another stranger come to town. Things really were beginning to change._

As Bryson approached the front door of the Diner, Emma stepped out the back door. She had taken off an hour in the mid-morning lull to go and buy some paint for the Apartments and wasn’t there when Bryson came in for the cake. 

\+ + + + + + 

Two weeks later they found that all their efforts had proven successful. Gold and Bryson were busy, along with Leroy (he was quite the surprise volunteer) and now a fragile David Nolan, who was still recovering from his hospital stay. Working together they were able to finish constructing the booths. Jefferson and Robert had been able to lend a little assistance, Robert by far the most able of the group with a hammer. They had been joined by the enigmatic leather clad motorcyclist – August Booth, he’d told them his name. Also quite adept with a hammer, he had taken up with one of the town’s construction firms and settled into one of the other Library Apartments. He had come to town, he’d told them, for his health. 

Mother Superior was obviously quite pleased with their booth building efforts. 

“This should be our most successful Fundraiser ever,” she announced. 

\+ + + + +

They were supposed to be on their usual Diner Date but this time Rumple had insisted on preparing the meal for Belle at home. He had taken over her kitchen relying on the cooking skills he had acquired in the Enchanted Forest. It was a delightfully warm evening and they were sitting on Belle’s covered porch, eating roast chicken and drinking wine. Belle was running her little foot up his pants leg, continually distracting him from his meal. The dogs and the cat were both lounging on the porch, the dogs on the floor, Kari on her usual cushioned chair.

Belle the Dark Lady wasn’t quite as happy as Mother Superior. “If this Kissing Booth idea doesn’t work, I’m at a loss. Everything is starting to fall apart with Emma coming to town, David Nolan waking up, now with August Booth’s arrival, hell, with even the clock tower starting to work again.” Belle recounted all the changes that had recently come to Storybrooke. “But none of these are strong enough to break the Curse! If Emma doesn’t get a move on and find her One True Love, I’m afraid we’ll be stuck here forever.”

“What happens?” Rumple asked her. “What happens if she doesn’t find her True Love? Is there any other way to break the Curse?”

“If Emma were to die, it would break the Curse. I put that in there in case Regina realized what was going on and became homicidal.”

“How about if Regina were to die?” Rumple asked her. It was Thursday evening. The Fundraiser was to start tomorrow after school and last through some fireworks on Saturday night.

“That would break the Curse but there could be a rending in the fabric between the two worlds.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“A hole could open up. Things like ogres and dragons could start coming through or, for that matter, some of the military might of this world could go through the other direction. It could get messy. I’m holding on to that option as an absolute last resort.”

“I would guess so,” he agreed _a trifle put off by the sheer cold-bloodedness of mixing the dark, war-like forces of the two realms_. “Any other outs?”

“I did put in a few other paths to breaking the Curse, but they are farther afield. For instance, if Regina found her own True Love, that would break the Curse.”

“Regina has a True Love?” he had to ask in wonderment.

“Hell, I don’t know. I doubt it – she is the Evil Queen, after all. But if she did, and they kissed, that would break the Curse.” 

“All right,” he accepted this. “Any others?”

“It might be possible for someone else from a magical realm to come in through a portal. In that case, magic might start leeching into this world. That could wake up everyone with magical potential. So while not actually breaking the Curse, it would render it innocuous.”

“Interesting. It does sound like Emma is the best bet. What happens if. . . when she breaks it?”

“I don’t know,” Belle told him taking a sip of wine.

“What?! What do you mean, you don’t know?” he was stunned. 

“We could all go back to the Enchanted Forest, be back where we were when the Curse first was enacted.” 

“Or?” he asked.

“We could end up just aware of who we truly are and be stuck here,” she told him. 

“With no magic,” he said.

“Well . . . “ she began.

“What?! Belle, what do you know?” he sat up looking hard at her.

“There is a way to bring back the magic,” she told him softly. 

He sat very still before asking, “Would you want to do that?” 

“I sometimes miss it,” she confessed. “But . . . .?”

“I don’t think I miss the on-going presence of the Dark One. I mean it’s still inside me but it’s so much quieter now. But the power was nice. I would think if I brought back magic then the cold hand of the Dark One would take hold of my heart again.”

“We’ve never talked about that. How you became the Dark One . . .?” He was curious.

Belle took a deep breath. “There is a Dagger,” she told him. “Whoever possesses the Dagger controls the Dark One. If they kill the Dark One with the Dagger, then they become the Dark One.”

He sat quietly. “I see,” he finally said. “And at some point in your captivity, the Dark One became complacent, careless and you found this Dagger?”

She nodded.

“And you killed him?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know what the Dagger was. I certainly didn’t know it would transfer his power to me and I would become the new Dark One,” Belle shared her story.

“I’m glad I never stumbled across this Dagger. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to kill you with it and the idea of controlling you is . . . very distasteful.”

Belle sat quietly.

He knew there was something else. 

“You did find the Dagger,” she told him slowly. “In my tower when you were helping me clean up, you found it.”

“I have no memory of this!” he was dumbfounded.

“You told me you didn’t want to control me and I told you I couldn’t let you live knowing my secret. You suggested I take the memory away from you.”

“And you’re telling me now . . .?” he asked.

“Because I trust you,” she said simply.

“I’m honored,” he said. “Truly honored Belle. I . . .” he hesitated. “Belle,” he began, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something. I’m not a romantic man . . . .” 

“Just an uneducated, barely literate peasant?” she asked him.

“Just so,” he agreed with a smile. “You know I have feelings for you, deep feelings. I have never felt about anyone as I feel about you.” He stopped a moment, took a deep breath and started again. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yes. And I love you,” she responded promptly with any trace of artifice.

He let out his breath. “Thank goodness for that,” he murmured. 

“You didn’t know?” she asked him.

“I wasn’t sure. As the Dark One, I didn’t think you were really capable of love, perhaps affection and acquisitiveness, but not love.” 

“Well now I’m mostly Belle who certainly loves you.” She sat quietly a moment. “I think both parts of me love you. Although the Dark One is possessive and jealous it is also intrigued and fascinated by you,” she told him and then shared, “I love both the humble Spinner who was always so very capable and the canny bookshop owner who has been so unsure of himself. I can’t separate the two – you’re really the same person. Your strengths are certainly the same, your kindness, especially your kindness.” 

He smiled, “Curiously I’m experiencing the same thing. I adore the gentle princess and I can’t believe she loves me, but I find I have an . . . unanticipated appreciation for your darkness. It keeps you delightfully unpredictable and,” he paused, “I suspect your darkness is to credit with some of your more creative efforts in our bedchamber,” he complimented her and kissed her fingertips while she dropped her eyes in some embarrassment. 

He nevertheless seemed relieved at her declaration. He started again. “I don’t know how this whole Curse thing is going to work out, but I do know that I never want to be separated from you again. I want to be in your life. I want you in mine. There are so many things that make me unworthy but my feelings are very, very real and I hope they outweigh my other shortcomings.”

He still seemed hesitant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

“Rumple?” Belle was beginning to think this was not ordinary conversation.

“Would you, could you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he finally blurted out, opening the box and offering her a ring.

She sat quietly. 

“Belle?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course. Yes, yes! Absolutely. Tonight?”

“If you want. Or we can do the big wedding thing. Whatever you want,” he was most agreeable. “The ring’s not very big, but I thought it was beautiful. It reminded me of your eyes,” he told her. 

She had already put it on, holding it out to admire the diamond and sapphire combination.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him, wiping away a few tears. “It’s perfect! I never expected this. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“So are you. The best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he assured her.

“I want to get married right away, the sooner the better. How about Saturday evening then, while the Fundraiser is going on? That would give us time to get a license and find someone willing to marry us,” she told him. 

“Whatever Milady wishes,” he told her. More seriously he added, “And I want you to draw up a pre-nup.”

“What? You don’t want anyone to say I was marrying you to get my hands on all your first editions?”

He smiled, “Just so.”

\+ + + + + +

That same evening, Regina had finally gotten around to treating Robert and Roland to supper in her tiny apartment.

She had gone to some trouble. 

Regina had prepared some tomato sauce using a peeled and halved onion sautéed in butter _(a lot of butter)_ with a little salt and some canned San Marzano whole tomatoes. Both Robert and Roland (standing on a chair) watched as she used her hand to crush each of the tomatoes _like you would crush the heart of a villainous enemy or a cheating ex-boyfriend._

As this was cooking down, she then had patiently shown Roland how to make pasta from flour, salt and eggs with a little water. She had set Robert to grating the hard Parmesan cheese while Roland had helped her crank out the long strands of pasta dough and drop it into the boiling water.

She had already prepped a salad, done with a variety of greens, heirloom tomatoes and fresh cucumbers with a homemade balsamic vinaigrette.

There was also some freshly baked French bread (which she had done earlier in the day); it had been cut, buttered and was lightly toasting. For dessert she had some freshly made chocolate ice cream in a churn.

Roland’s eyes lit up as he ate the meal. “You the bestest cook, Miss Gina!” the child told her.

“I had no idea you could cook,” Robert told her. “This is delicious. Quite a step up from my boxed pasta, jarred tomato sauce, and cardboard parmesan.” 

“Don’t forget the iceberg lettuce and the buttered hot dog buns,” she laughed. “Listen, Robert, I enjoyed that meal with you easily as much as any other I’ve ever had. While it’s nice to do everything from scratch sometimes, I’ve learned from you and Roland that food can be as much about company as it is about taste and nourishment. Tonight however, I just wanted to show off for my gentlemen.” _Where had that come from?_

He toasted her with some of her vintage wine. “Well I agree with Roland. You the bestest cook. Where did you learn how?” he asked.

Regina shrugged. “I learned . . . ” ( _What? She could hardly say she had excelled at potion-making and the skills transferred_.) “uh . . . I learned how to cook after I moved out from my mother’s.” Yes, that was accurate enough.

These shared family-like meals were becoming a pattern. Roland clearly adored her and Robert . . . well, Robert was becoming increasingly important to her. They had not gone beyond holding hands and had not kissed although they had gotten close. Robert had asked if she would like to accompany him and Roland to the Fundraiser this year.

_She hated the Fundraiser, like she hated the nuns, malicious, manipulative little flits. It was one of the few issues she and Belle were in one hundred percent agreement. She’d prefer to see them go bankrupt and have Belle evict them._

She said yes, she’d love to go to the Fundraiser with Robert and Roland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regina prepared an iconic tomato sauce recipe created by Marcella Hazan.


	20. Soul of Goodness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True Love's Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did run longer than I'd like, but I couldn't find anyway to split it up and get through the critical scenes.

In her capacity as Mayor, Regina had attended the opening ceremonies for the Fundraiser Friday night.  She put in the required appearance for the minimum amount of time and left.

But Saturday morning, she was back on the Fundraiser grounds with Robert and Roland.  Earlier that morning, she’d driven over to Robert’s house for breakfast _which was becoming a pleasant habit._ As always, little Roland had been overjoyed to see her, running to her for a hug.  Awkwardly, uncomfortable with unabashed displays of affection, she had bent down to return the child’s hug.  _Somehow this was getting easier._  

After breakfast, Robert had packed them all into his truck and taken them all to the Fundraiser.  The three were now walking the grounds.  Roland had exuberantly taken them around to the rock climbing wall (they had one for preschoolers) and the bouncy castle (also had one of these for preschoolers).  They ended up walking along the row that featured different games of chance.  Regina was surprised, playing one of the games of chance, when she won the child a toy stuffed monkey.  Roland clutched the toy to his chest, thanking Miss Gina.  They couldn’t avoid seeing the commotion around one booth – a Kissing Booth!  _How had the fairies ever allowed something like this to happen?!_

Regina wasn’t happy to see Emma Swan there. 

_Five dollars to kiss Miss Swan?  Who would pay that?_

But there was quite a line, including that new character in town – what was his name?  August Booth.  _What was this with all these changes going on?_   Roland gazed up at Miss Swan in awe.

“Why are those men letting that lady kiss them?” he asked his father.

“They pay some money and she kisses them.  The money then goes to Sister Astrid so she can pay for yummy snacks and new books when you’re at preschool,” his father explained. 

“We should pay too,” Roland decided.  “I like yummy snacks and new books.”

Robert glanced at Regina.  “It’s for a good cause,” he told her.

Regina clenched her jaw and nodded agreement.  She watched when Robert pulled out five dollars from his wallet.

She suddenly realized with a hard clarity of vision, she did not want Robert kissing Miss Swan.  She did not want him kissing any other woman. “I don’t want you to kiss her,” she finally blurted out.

Robert gave her a slow, gentle smile.  “’Bout time,” he told her.  “And I don’t want to be kissing any other women,” he said to her softly, touching the side of her face with his hand.  “This is for the boy,” he explained. “And for yummy snacks and new books.  Roland will take the bullet on this one.”

Regina felt herself blushing.  _He didn’t want to be kissing other women._   Regina watched as Robert held Roland up for Emma to kiss.  Emma gave the child a kiss and a hug.

“You nice,” he told her. “Happy birthday.”

Emma stepped back.  “How did you know it was my birthday?” she asked the child in amazement.

“’Cause you get kisses on your birthday,” Roland patiently explained to her with irrefutable four-year-old logic.

_Something stirred in Regina’s memories but she couldn’t quite grasp it._

Walking around, they brushed up against Mary Margaret and David.  David was walking unsteadily and leaning heavily on the young woman.

“Well, those two seem to be becoming a genuine couple,” Robert remarked innocently.  “You know she would often go over to the hospital to read to him while he was in a coma.”

“I know,” Regina admitted sourly.  She tried to summon her anger, her bitterness, her hatred, but somehow, walking around with Robert and little Roland, it just wouldn’t come.  _What was happening to her?_

_She was getting soft.  Just being around Robert and his son, she was having unusual thoughts – like thinking about waking up snuggling in the man’s bed, making breakfast for the three of them and other really homey thoughts – thoughts she would have ridiculed before she had cast the Curse._

_But now these thoughts were sounding wonderful and inviting._

\+ + + + +  +

“She doesn’t seem to like you,” David had observed walking along with Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret sighed.  “No she doesn’t.  I’m not quite sure what the problem is, but she’s always been unpleasant.  Of course, I hear she’s pretty much that way with everybody, so maybe it’s not just me.”

“Well, she’s sure not that way with Robert,” David told her.  “She looks like a school girl out on a date.”

Mary Margaret glanced back.  The Mayor did look more relaxed walking around with the fireman and his son.  They actually looked like they made a little family.

“Maybe she’s found love,” she speculated.

“Well, I can appreciate how much love can change a person,” David told her.  “You know I have these memories of your voice.  I guess I was hearing you while I was in a coma and you were coming in to read to me.”

Mary Margaret explained, “Dr. Whale encouraged me to read to you.  He thought it would be good for you.”

“I don’t know, but I think it was.”

The two strode off.  They had been spending an increasing amount of time together, growing closer and closer. 

\+ + + + + + + +     

Rumple and Belle had monitored Emma as she had worked at the Fundraiser.

“Will we know when it happens?” Rumple had asked her.

“Don’t know,” she had told him.

“For someone who helped create this Curse, you don’t seem to know a lot about taking it apart,” he grumbled.

“Never got that far with it,” she told him. “I always thought it was a rather stupid curse and couldn’t fathom why anyone would ever want to cast it.”

“Well, will the ground shake, the skies open up, a cloud sweep over us?  What?” he pursued the issue.

“You know, you would have made a good sorcerer, you’re so detailed oriented,” she told him, deflecting the question.  “Maybe something will happen.  I suspect we’ll feel _something._   I’m certainly noting a lot of confusion going on right now.”

And there had indeed been mass confusion since Emma had accepted the first dozen customers.  She was a lovely girl and young men had lined up.  Soon after, there had been fights, angry outbursts, crying jags, outrageous statements and the spewing of utter nonsense coming from the young men.

Belle had watched impassively.  “Guess she still hasn’t met Mr. Right,” she said. 

“Well, we’re starting to run out of Mr. Potentials,” Rumple had grumbled.  “I know Bae . . .  Bryson has been trying to meet her and asked if he could close up a little early to get over to the fundraiser to take his turn.”

“You told him that would be all right?” Belle asked.

“Yeah, of course.  Those two have been trying to connect ever since Emma came to town, but keep missing each other.”  He paused.  “It’s a bit odd, almost like . . . almost like something is preventing them from coming together.”  He shrugged.  _Probably nothing._

\+ + + + + + +

Bryson had finished up in the bookstore.  It had been a very slow Friday evening and an even slower Saturday.  Everyone in town was apparently at the Fundraiser.  He had manned the store but had only done business with those few who had stopped by for a to-go cup on their way out to the Fundraiser.  Mr. Gold had suggested he close early on Saturday and come on out to the Fundraiser grounds.  Bryson was about to leave out when he got a frantic call from Mr. Clark who owned the local drug store. 

“Oh thank goodness!” Mr. Clark began.  “I’ve got a couple of prescriptions that really need to be delivered to some shut-ins and my regular person hasn’t come in and isn’t answering his phone.  I really need some help here, Bryson.  Can you make a couple of deliveries for me?  I’ll pay you hourly and there’s a big bonus in it for you.”  Then he sneezed.

Bryson considered.  This could mean an extra thirty to fifty dollars for himself.  That would be nice.  He didn’t want to miss the Fundraiser but  . . . .

“Sure, Mr. Clark.  I’m closing things up here at the bookstore and I’ll be on my way over.”

Bryson rode his bicycle over and picked up the medications.  He set off, hoping to have time to make the deliveries and get to the Fundraiser.  He knew they had fireworks right at the end.  Maybe he would at least be able to see those.  If he could only finish up in time. 

\+ + + + + +

Later that evening Rumple put a small bag in the trunk of the car ready to be taken to the Inn for their honeymoon.  And Belle began to dress for a moment in her life that she had never imagined would come.  She was as excited as a princess going to her first ball, maybe more so.  She had picked out a vintage white suit with spectator pumps.  She had found an antique hat with a small tasteful birdcage veil that she felt completed the ensemble.  She knew that Rumple would be dressed in one of his new suits.  They had picked out some white roses, like the ones he grew in front of his shop, for her to carry and for him to wear in his button hole.  Archie Hopper, former cricket advisor, former human, and former reluctant con artist, currently respected town psychologist and licensed to perform marriages in the state of Maine, had been thrilled to marry them, even on short notice.  They would stand together in Belle’s little park near the Mayor’s office (the one that she had built after preventing Regina from paving it over and making it into a parking lot).  Jefferson had agreed to witness and be the Best Man.  Belle had asked Marjorie or as she was currently known, Miss Maggie, to stand as her Maid of Honor and be a second witness.  The older woman had been flattered and quickly agreed.

They drove together up to the park, the Wedding Venue. Jefferson and Maggie were waiting for them.  “I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” he told them as they got out of Belle’s Miata. 

“Too late, way too late for that,” Rumple confirmed. 

“I’m glad for you two,” Jefferson told them.  “You’re very right for each other.  You should be together.  I’m glad this whole Curse business hasn’t prevented you from finding each other.”  He added this last in a quiet voice so that neither Maggie nor Archie would hear him.

“So you do know,” Rumple said to him slowly.  “Belle thought you might and I certainly suspected it.  Some of the things you told me were so close to things you had said before.”

“Yeah.  It was part of my personal hell that I had memories when everyone else didn’t,” Jefferson explained.  “I was so pleased when things finally started to change – I knew the Curse was beginning to weaken when you and Belle started to get back together.  What needs to happen to break it wide open?” he asked.

“Emma, the new waitress, needs to kiss her True Love,” Belle told him, putting a rose into Rumple’s lapel.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Jefferson told them.  “I took my shot Friday night.  I am curious as to who was able to talk Mother Superior into a Kissing Booth?  I would have thought that the old biddy would have shriveled up and blown away before she gave into such a thing.

Rumple looked over at Belle who smiled innocently.  “I just asked her nicely,” she told Jefferson.

“Ah, there’s more to this, but I won’t ask. Now, you do know who Miss Swan’s True Love is, right?” Jefferson asked.

“We don’t know,” Rumple told him. 

“Very sloppy,” Jefferson told them and suddenly put things together.  “That’s why you’ve got her at the Fundraiser at the Kissing Booth!  Very clever.  What will happen when she kisses him . . . or her?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Rumple answered.

Jefferson looked at Belle. 

“Don’t know,” she answered.

“Great.  You mean we could end up stuck here with no magic?  Or maybe someplace worse?”

Belle shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well shit,” Jefferson summarized.

“Belle tells me she could bring magic back,” Rumple told his friend.

“Would we want her to do that?” Jefferson asked.

“There are pros and cons,” she told him.

“Exactly how would you do that?” Jefferson asked her, one professional to another.

“I would take a potion comprised of True Love and throw it into the Wishing Well,” she told him.

“And just where would you get a potion comprised of True Love?” Jefferson had to ask.

Belle looked nervously at Rumple.  “As it happens, I just happen to have some lying around.”

“You do?” Rumple asked.  “And where would you just happen to get a True Love potion?”  His eyes had narrowed. 

Belle looked flustered.  “I made it,” she finally answered.  “Before, of course.”

“Something from Princess Snow and Prince Charming?” Rumple asked.  He had learned their story when Belle had shared with him the importance of David Nolen waking up. 

“Not exactly,” she confessed.

He stopped.  “What do you mean?” he asked turning to look at her.  “You told me that True Love was extremely rare.  You can’t just have a couple of gallons of the stuff lying around.”

“I just have this one other potion,” she answered him slowly.

He looked at her.  Everything imploded.  “It’s us, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.  “I made it at the same time I made the potion that went into the Curse Scroll, the potion I made from Snow and Charming so that their child could break the Curse.  It was just a whimsy.  I never expected . . . .”

“So you two have True Love,” Jefferson interrupted.  “How nice for you.  Let’s get on with this.  You can decide about returning magic to Storybrooke later.  Right now, you two need to get married.”

\+ + + + + +

Bryson was concerned that the Kissing Booth would be closed down by the time he got there or Miss Swan would have been replaced by someone else.  He’d been trying to meet this young woman ever since she had come to town but hadn’t managed even a glimpse.  She had come into the bookstore a couple of times, but always just those rare occasions that he had stepped out.  He had come over to the diner several times, but she had always been out on an errand for herself or for Granny or for something else.  He’d even done some spotty evening work on the Library Apartments for some additional income, but his times there had always conflicted with Emma working a night shift at the Diner. His friends had continued to talk her up, and had certainly kept his interest piqued but all to no avail.

But now, as the sun was going down, he had finally gotten to the Fundraiser.  He had locked up his bike and was out on the field, his sneakers crunching on the well-trodden grass as he walked quickly over the uneven ground.  He spotted The Booth and he felt his heart rate quicken . . . and then his heart plunged into the pit of his stomach.  The Booth was closed. 

He stood a moment, dejected, standing in the field.  Other people were beginning to mill around, setting out blankets and lawn chairs, getting good seats for the fireworks. 

“You look like you missed out on something.”  It was David Nolen who was walking by with Mary Margaret. 

“Yeah, I had wanted to meet Miss Swan,” he replied.

“The young woman who was working the Kissing Booth?  Pretty girl.  She’s one of my neighbors.  We spend a lot of time together when we aren’t working,” Ms. Blanchard told him.

“She’s over at one of the concession stands,” David told him.  He pointed Bryson on and then he and Mary Margaret settled on a little blanket where they could watch the fireworks.   They had been careful to position themselves across the field from the spot Regina had settled on with the fireman and his son. 

“Thanks,” Bryson had told them before heading over to the food aisle of the Fundraiser. 

He saw her for the first time standing in line waiting to place an order.  He was across the lawn from her and picked her out just from seeing her from the back.  Long blonde hair, an athletic figure.  He moved quickly, his chest unaccountably tightening as he closed the distance.

Standing in line, Emma _felt_ something.  Someone coming, _a disturbance in the force._   She turned.  It was a handsome young man, dark hair, eyes that reminded her of . . . someone.  She smiled at him.

“Hi,” she introduced herself.  “I’m Emma.”

“I know.  I’ve been trying to meet you.  I’m Bryson.”  He was awestruck, surprised he could put one word in front of another.  _Geez, she was beautiful.  He had never met anyone this beautiful._  

“The barista!” she exclaimed.  “Everyone’s been telling me I needed to meet you!”  _Wow, she had thought.  She really should have put more effort into meeting this guy; he was a bit rugged, athletic, slightly scruffy – everything the way she liked it._

_Maybe she should have been trying harder to connect with him, but as she thought it through, she had put in quite a bit of effort but had been thwarted at every turn._

“Same here . . . about you, I mean.  Please, let me treat,” he ordered two foot long hot dogs, onion rings and some fries along with a couple of drinks. 

“I didn’t see you earlier,” Emma remarked as they carried their food off, looking for a place to settle while they ate and waited for the fireworks. 

“I had to work and then I got a special delivery job that paid really well, so I missed connecting with you at the Kissing Booth,” he explained. 

“Well, I’m really sorry,” she told him.  “I had to kiss quite a few frogs today.  It would have been nice to kiss a couple of princes – or at least one prince.”  She dropped her eyes in a shy gesture.

Bryson felt himself getting warm.  He was saved from making a reply when the lights in the concessions stands blinked on and off.  Things were about to close up and the fireworks would start. 

“This looks like a good place to sit and watch the action,” Emma said to him as she settled onto a small rock outcropping in the grassy field.  “Join me?”

He nodded and the two sat down next to each other. 

\+ + + + +

The fireworks had begun, lighting up the darkened sky, splays of color accompanied by the booming sounds of the launchers and the acrid smell of smoke.  Regina was nestled in Robert’s arms and found herself looking up at him.  _This was serious.  She felt things for this man that she hadn’t ever felt for anyone._ She raised her face to his as he leaned over her.

\+ + + + +

Across the park, David and Mary Margaret looked into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the sensory experiences exploding around them.  They were holding hands. 

“I feel like I have been searching for you, searching for a long time, that I was meant to find you,” David told her and Mary Margaret agreed.  She turned to him and embraced him.

\+ + + + +

Near the now closed concession stands, on the edge of the forest, on their little rocky outcropping, Bryson and Emma were sitting next to each other.  “If I promise to send in a contribution, do you . . . do you think it would be all right if I get a belated kiss?” Bryson wondered how he had gotten so bold.

_Emma had never heard a more blatant or a sweeter entreaty for a kiss._

“If you promise, I think that would make it all right for me to kiss someone I just met.  Besides, it is my birthday,” Emma told him and shifted so that she could kiss him directly on the lips.

\+ + + + + +

“And you may now kiss the bride,” Archie told the newly wedded couple.  Rumple reached for the love of his life, his One True Love, and she melted into him. 

They were kissing and then the tsunami, the wave washed over them without them even being aware of anything.  It felt part of their own magic.

It was Archie and Marjorie who nearly fell over.  Jefferson caught them both.  “Are you all right?” he’d asked them.

“I . . . I . . .” Archie looked around bewildered.  “You’re the Hatter.”  He looked over at Belle and Rumple.  “And you’re the. . . you’re the Dark Lady and . . .  and . . . .” _He didn’t recognize the gentle Spinner._

But Marjorie did.  “Rumple?” And she was hugging him, tears in her eyes.  “And Lady Belle?” she turned to Belle.  “What’s happened to us?”

“You’ve been under a curse.  It’s broken now.  You may need to sit down. Recovery can take you a little while.”  She was smiling.  “It finally happened,” she told the other two men.

“I thought as much,” Rumple said.  “I wonder who it was.”  He looked around.  He didn’t think they were back in the Enchanted Forest.  Everything still looked like Storybrooke.

“I’ll get Archie and Marjorie back to their homes.  It will only take a moment” Jefferson told them.  “Why don’t you two go and check things out.  I’m going to go and find Grace.”  He mentioned his young daughter from whom he had been separated for eighteen years. 

Belle and Rumple drove back to the park where the Fundraiser was being held.  It was mass confusion. People were running around, trying to find missing loved ones. An angry group was already talking about lynching Regina.

Belle sighed.  The Dark One within her enjoyed chaos, thrived on it in fact.  But Belle, Princess of Avonleigh, just wanted peace and quiet and routine.  Right now, the Princess Belle was mostly in charge.  She and her new husband picked their way through the mobs of people, looking over the crowd for a young blonde woman and whomever she might be with.

They found them together on the edge of a field, still holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes, oblivious to the chaos around them. 

“Cute couple,” Belle observed succinctly.

“Bae?” Rumple asked his son. “You’re her True Love?”

“Do I know you?” Bae had pulled away from Emma and was looking at Belle and Rumple.  It took him a moment.  “Dad?” and he ran to his father and the two hugged . . . and hugged.  “What has happened?  Suddenly, it’s like I have these two sets of memories.”

“It’s a long story, son,” Rumple told him.  “Why don’t you and Miss Swan come with me and Miss . . . uh, Lacey . . . uh, Belle.”

Belle intervened.  “Hello Bae.  I’m Belle.  Someone you may know in your old memories as the Dark Lady.  At this moment, I’m your new step-mother.”

“Step-mother?!”  Bae stood a moment and then smiled.  “Then you and my dad . . .  Congratulations!” and he reached for Belle to hug her.  “I always thought that you two were right for each other.”

“What’s going on here?” Emma asked.  “Everyone’s suddenly gone nuts.”

“Miss Swan, we have a story to tell you, a long one,” Belle began.  “Why don’t you come with us and we’ll get some tea.” 

\+ + + + +

Belle had set the True Love potion on a back shelf of the bookstore, behind the counter, debating what to do with it.  She and Rumple had shared with a very disbelieving Emma Swan the entire story.  Emma hadn’t believed them _of course not,_ but she hadn’t packed up and summarily left Storybrooke either.  She had sat next to Bae holding his hand while she had listened.

Different people wandered into the bookstore from time to time, including a stunned Mary Margaret and David Nolen.  They had been kissing when The Curse broke and hadn’t immediately noticed anything, but then their memories had crashed in on them.  They weren’t sure, but thought that young Emma just might, could possibly be, was she, their daughter?  They had come by looking for Belle who was able to introduce Emma to her parents, who had both cried and fawned over their lost daughter.  Bae had stood by Emma’s side throughout the Enlightenment phase of things and she clearly leaned on him for emotional support, finding it all very difficult to believe _but part of her clearly wanting to._

By midnight, Belle had trundled everyone off to bed and advised them to meet back at the bookstore the following morning to sort things out.

Her new husband had watched her, not sure if he was seeing the Dark Lady in charge or the Princess Belle.  After everyone had left the shop, he had to smile at her.  “Not exactly how I had envisioned my wedding night Mrs. Gold,” he told her.

“Or am I Mrs. Stiltskin?” she asked him coming over to him and wrapping her arms around him. 

He put his hands around her waist, “Whatever you prefer, as long as you’re with me.” And now he was planting little kisses on her neck. 

“I think Mrs. Gold while we’re here in Storybrooke,” Belle said absently, shivering as he hit one particularly sensitive spot.  “If we had gone back to the Enchanted Forest, I think I would be Mrs. Stiltskin.  I . . . I think the name should fit the . . . the place.”  She was beginning to find it difficult to string words together.  The man seemed very intent on taking her apart.

“Uh hummm,” he’d responded nibbling on her ear.

Belle could see that his eyes had darkened.  His voice had taken on the soft timbre he would always have when he would tell her how desirable she was, how desiring he was.  His fingers, oh goodness, his fingers had begun to unbutton things and trace designs on bare skin.

“I am debating . . .” he murmured.

“Uh huh,” she had managed to answer him.

“Do we take the time to get to the Honeymoon Suite at the Inn, just return to our home or do we go ahead and consummate the marriage right here in the place where you first seduced me?” he asked.

“What?!  I seduced you?” she pulled back to look at him.

“Definitely,” he told her.  “Both times, here and in the Dark Castle, you were the one who pulled me into bed.  Not that I objected, mind you.”  And he was kissing her along her chin now.

Belle really couldn’t dispute what he’d said.  She had been the one to initiate and encourage their relationship.  He had always been so concerned with their difference in station, in power and likely would have never dared to pursue her. 

“Thank goodness I did.  Imagine us both wasting away, pining for each other,” she capitulated on the point.

“As I said, I never objected to your attentions.  But back to my question – the honeymoon suite at the Inn, back to our home or right here?”

Belle really wanted to go to the Inn.  There was a reserved honeymoon suite and it would be set with roses and champagne and chocolates and probably some little present or four from Rumple. 

“Here,” she told him breathlessly.  “I can’t wait.  We can go to the Inn later.”

He nodded.  “Good, I would have some trouble walking over to the Inn right now,” and they managed to get each other into the Back Room where there were several rugs on the cool wooden floor.  Rumple pulled down some pillows from the slim sofa that was still in the room and with some effort he got himself down to the floor, pulling Belle down to him. 

Belle had always enjoyed this part when he would undress her and she would undress him.  The man could wear a suit, yet it was always pleasant to strip layer after layer of the formal wear off of him – the tie, the jacket, the vest, the shirt, the undershirt, the pants (socks and shoes if they were still on) and finally the boxers he preferred.  He had stopped undressing her after removing her outerwear. 

“Good lord, Belle.  I’ve not seen you in this underwear,” he told her, his fingers lingering over the white lace corset, matching thong and pale stockings held up by garters. 

“Do you like it?” she asked innocently.  “I bought it special for tonight.”

He looked her over, light shining through his eyes, his hand tracking down her body as he felt every seam and curve.  No question he liked it.  “I like it enough that, at least for a while, I’d like you to keep it on.”

She was surprised but not alarmed when he gently pushed her down onto her back.  “Part of me wants to lick every inch of you but I can’t last very long,” he told her, sliding the thong down her legs. And then he was lying on top of her, lying between her legs, positioning himself and pushing into her.  She was more than ready and welcomed the strong heat of him. 

_There had been another time when he had first taken the lead and she had enjoyed it, recognizing that the actions meant that he felt he was an equal in the relationship, no longer the humble servant who waited on the caprice of the mistress._

She wrapped her legs around him and held onto his shoulders, locking eyes with him as drove himself _and her_ toward a primal blissful goal. Ten, fifty, a hundred thrusts and more, her body was winding tighter and tighter.

“Come for me, wife,” he ordered her and she couldn’t hold back, crying out as her body clenched and then exploded, her deepest muscles caressing him and even in her own delight she saw his pupils fill his eyes as his own release came upon him.  They both fell back into a delicious slumber, slated for the moment, joined together physically, emotionally and by choice.

\+ + + + + + +

There was their overnight suitcase they had packed and left in the car.  Gold had been able to retrieve it before he opened the shop, enabling them to change clothes.  He would have preferred to be spending the morning licking his new wife all over but knew that would have to wait until things had calmed down to Defcon 2.  They had shared a sparse breakfast of coffee and some sticky buns left over from the day before. 

Jefferson had been one of the first to arrive, accompanied by his daughter Grace.  He shared that last night, he had been able to work out visitation with her foster parents who obviously loved and cared for his daughter.  He thought it was important for her to continue with all her parents in her life.  He had then briefly pulled Gold aside and gently chastised him. 

“You couldn’t wait and take the woman over to the Inn?”  Jefferson had asked him.

“What?! How did . . .?”

“Floor hair,” Jefferson explained sagely. Gold winced but didn’t apologize. 

Jefferson had given him a congratulatory tap on the back and settled in with some hot chocolate for himself and Grace to watch the action.    

There had been a lot of people in and out of the shop.  Many of the townspeople had had the initial response to summarily execute Regina, but Robert, who after whisking her away and stowing her in an unknown location, had spoken out in her defense, telling everyone who would listen that Regina had changed, that she no longer represented a danger to anyone, that she deserved a Second Chance. 

_Belle had pieced some things together talking with Robert.  She knew that True Love had found Regina and she knew that True Love would have changed Regina’s nature at a fundamental level – like it had impacted on herself.   There had been a kiss between Robert and Regina at the same time the Savior and young Bae had kissed – the same time that she and Rumple had kissed, the same time that Snow and Charming had kissed.  There had been more than enough True Love’s magic released to shatter the Curse._

As the day went on, things did begin to calm down and a shallow routine had slowly returned to the town.  One of the first things that had happened was Mary Margaret had been asked to step in to replace Regina as Interim Mayor, much to Mary Margaret’s surprise. 

Within a week, Mary Margaret had heard Regina’s case and had found her guilty of practicing black magic.  She gave her thirty-six years and then, in a move that surprised most, remanded her to the custody of Robert Forrest for the next six years on probation.   

As for the people of Storybrooke, most had decided to stay, thinking they would feel out of place in the outside world.  Bae was still considering going into the military, feeling the calling like his father never had.  He and Emma were keeping constant company, when she was not visiting with her parents.  The Colonel and Marjorie had had a quiet ceremony, inviting Bae and Emma, Belle and Rumple.  The biggest surprise was the young sister Astrid walking away from the convent and after a short stay in one of the Library Apartments, getting married to Leroy.

Belle and Rumple had finally gotten to the Inn for a lovely week of enjoying each others company in relative uninterrupted contentment.  It was late one afternoon, more than two weeks after the Curse had broken and they were at Shakespeare and Company having coffee together. 

“Happy, Mrs. Gold?” he asked.

“I am.  The Dark One does not know what to do with itself. Happiness isn’t just a foreign, uncomfortable feeling to the Dark One.  It’s like a poison.  Almost as toxic as True Love,” she told him.

“So is the Dark One . . . is it dying?” he had to ask.

“It’s weakening.”  She didn’t tell him that she had gone into her vault, the deep storage facility she kept under the house, a place that's very existence was unknown to others and undetectable by anyone.  She had checked The Dagger after the Breaking of the Curse and saw that her name had begun to fade on the damned thing.  _Interesting._

“So have you decided what to do about bringing magic back?” Rumple asked her.

“I think I’m just going to hang onto the potion.  It’s not like I can’t do it later, but once it’s done, it’s done forever.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he approved.  “If things are working, why fix them?”

Belle found herself in his lap again, snuggling against him.  “Oh, there is this one other . . . little . . . tiny . . . hardly important . . . teensy little, small . . . inconsequential thing,” she began.

He pulled back, his eyes narrowed.  “Belle?” he questioned.  _Lordy, sometimes he felt like that character on that very old television show – Ricky Ricardo questioning his harum-scarum wife Lucy.  What had she done now?_

She looked down at her hands that were resting in her lap.  “Do you remember, a long time ago, that I told you that Zoso had given me a potion so that I would not conceive his child?”

“I do,” he answered.

“Well,” she began, “right after you left to go visit your family and I found out that you and I had True Love . . .”  She stopped, finding it difficult to continue.

“Yes?” he encouraged her.

“I had this other potion.”

“And?” 

“I drank it.”

He kissed her forehead.  “Tell me about this other potion, please.”

“It was a very powerful potion.  Worth a king’s ransom,” she explained.

He waited.

“It was kinda like a fertility potion.”

“What do you mean ‘kinda like?’” he asked for clarification.

“Well, when a couple’s had trouble conceiving, the woman drinks this potion and the next time they . . . uh . . .  they, well, she’ll . . .  they’ll have a baby,” she finished up, surprised at how very difficult this conversation had become. 

“So this means you can now have children?” he asked.

“It means that the first time we have unprotected sex, I will probably conceive . . . if it works like it did in the Enchanted Forest.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she continued nervously.  “I don’t know if it will work like it did in the Enchanted Forest.  But if it does . . .”

“Do you want a child, Belle?” he asked quietly. “Children?”

“I know I should have talked this type of thing over with you, but I did all this when I was still the Dark One and it never even occurred to me to bring you into the conversation.”  She looked at him, her large blue eyes wide and luminous.  “I know now that this is the type of thing a couple discusses and one partner doesn’t make the decision without talking with the other partner.  But remember, I was the Dark One and  . . . would you like to have another child?” she asked him in a small voice.

“I wouldn’t object,” he said slowly.  “In fact, I think I would like that very much.”

“Oh goodie.  I don’t know that I will make a very good mother, but I just know that you will make an excellent father.”

He kissed her on the mouth.  “You will make a very good mother.  We just have to decide when we want to do this.” 

Relieved, Belle snuggled for a while before Rumple shared.  “Regina’s been released into Robert Forrest’s custody.  She actually seems to be making an effort to make better choices.”  He considered.  “Any chance that Robert could be her True Love?” He had begun to put some pieces together himself.

“I was taught, it’s in all my books and all the memories from the Dark One, that True Love is very, very rare, but it does seem to be popping up everywhere.  There’s Snow and Charming, of course.  You and me.  And, of course, Emma and Bae and now, yes, I think they have True Love, Robert and Regina,” Belle replied.  She suddenly pulled back.  “Oh my stars!  It’s you!  It’s been you, all along.  It’s been you!”

“What?” he wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

Belle had gotten up and was walking around the room her hands reaching out as if to touch things, things that he couldn’t see.  “It’s you and your Slow Magic.  I can see it now.  It’s everywhere, so much a part of everything that it doesn’t stand out, but it’s still here!  It still works, even here in the Land Without Magic, it still works!  It was in the Scroll.  It became part of the Curse.  That True Love would win out over everything.  You did it.  You’re responsible!”

“Me?!”  He shook his head and got up to walk over to her.

“Don’t you see it? At some point you were close to the scroll that contained the Curse and you must have wished for True Love to win out or something like that,” she told him putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. “Your magic is never flashy or fast but it’s very powerful.  And it’s all around us, even here.  It’s all around us.”  She smiled at him.  “You’re the real sorcerer.  You’re giving everyone a Happy Ending.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short epilogue next week to tidy up loose ends and to share a little more about the ideas that help create this story.   
> Look for The Other Brother (a movie adaptation) to come out next -twyla


	21. All's Well That Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue and a few odd notes.

Since I’ve ended this story at the point that The Curse breaks, I can tell you what I would envision happening to these characters.

The town of Storybrooke (now that the boundary is down) is discovered by summer tourists and becomes a most desirable spot for family vacations. During the remainder of the year it acquires a reputation for being an artist and writer haven (thanks to some nice, low rent apartments handled by a certain landlord). Shakespeare and Company, Rumple’s bookstore/coffee/wine bar, gets greatly expanded to handle the increased business as does Granny’s Dinner.

Astrid and Leroy (we all root for them, don’t we?), marry and Astrid opens a daycare that competes successfully with the one operated by the nuns.

Maggie and the Colonel live on in wedded bliss, perhaps with Maggie eventually selling her shop to Rumple (who retains his interests and skills in spinning) and she and the Colonel go off to explore the USA in a Winnebago (lovely adventuresome couple that they are).

Mary Margaret is elected Mayor but after a term, decides she wants to stay home with her growing family and David then takes a term as Mayor.

As for Regina and Robert, they get married and perhaps after a while, I could see Regina opening some type of chic, tasteful shop for women’s fashions – clothes and jewelry. No Marion returning from the dead in this story or Momma or Zelena coming along to muck things up for this couple.

I’d like to think that Jefferson finds someone special but don’t have anyone in mind at the moment. He would certainly continue on as Rumple’s best friend and all the young’uns’ favorite uncle.

Emma and Bae continue dating. Bae, who’s never had problems with military service, decides to enlist in the army, pursuing and fulfilling his dream of becoming an Army Ranger (my daddy was career Army, so I went with this branch of our armed services). With financial support from her parents (and Belle) Emma goes on to college to get a degree in law enforcement and serves as deputy in the town (I might envision an alternate scenario for Emma with her getting a call from Quantico and going on to become a special agent, working for a couple of years for the feds). The two get married (of course) and eventually settle in Storybrooke. Perhaps Bae opens a school for self-defense and teaches survival skills on the weekends (he’s a pretty tough guy, right?). Henry comes along soon enough and I would think at least one other baby, probably a little brother.

As for Rumbelle, they thrive as we would want them to. At least three, maybe four babies for them. Rumple is approached by a citizen’s committee after David has finished his term as Mayor and, to his surprise, becomes the town’s longest serving, most beloved Mayor (we so want others to appreciate him as we do). He brings a variety of businesses and cultural events to the town doing much to create the Storybrooke described in my first paragraph.

Then all the babies grow up and we have some consanguination between our happy families – Roland would almost certainly hook up with one of the Charmings or Rumbelle offspring and probably some of the Charmings and Rumbelle offspring would get together.

I don’t think Belle would ever use the Return to Magic potion. She was never driven by a need for power as our canon Rumple is. She would be afraid that magic would bring back the onus of the Dark One and she prefers being mostly Belle.

The potion would gather dust on a back shelf of the bookstore -- and when one of the grandchildren (or great-grandchildren) find it, we might, only then, have an open can of worms and a story about what happens When Magic Comes Back (but that is not a story I have conceptualized at this point).

I had this idea for a while (as I do most of my ideas). I was about ready to start publishing but did not have a title that truly expressed the core of the story but trusted that the universe would provide one in time. And it did.

Watching an old Perry Mason, I heard one of the characters quote a line “There is some soul of goodness . . .” and another character completed the line “in things evil.” Well, there it was. I added more Shakespeare references to the story, including each chapter title being a small snippet from one of Shakespeare’s many, many lines. Also, I named Rumple’s bookstore Shakespeare and Company, enjoying both the Shakespeare reference and, of course, the hat tip to the most famous bookstore ever, anywhere -- Sylvia Beach’s Parisian store by the same name (where ex-patriated Americans, such as Hemingway, James Joyce, T.S. Eliot, Thornton Wilder, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, well it does go on, would gather and share their literary efforts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read this and especially those who left gracious comments. This was my first work on AO3 (I have others on the fanfiction site) and it was great fun.  
> I am working on a longer story (with more angst and shadows) but it's not quite ready to get pushed out of the nest; so, I'm setting one of my older stories free. It’s a (mostly) fluffy movie re-mix. It's called The Other Brother and should be up today.


End file.
